


The Boy and the Knight

by Yuripaws



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama & Romance, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Kings & Queens, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peacetime, Pining, Princes & Princesses, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Swordfighting, Viktor Suffering, knights sitting about doing nothing except Being Gay, no enemies because who would they even fight???, uhhh idk this is gonna be really gay ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2018-10-11 14:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 53,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10467051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuripaws/pseuds/Yuripaws
Summary: Ser Viktor Nikiforov would never notice a lowly squire like Yuuri Katsuki.Knight/Medieval AU





	1. Gay Knight AU???

**Author's Note:**

> Pulled this AU completely out of my own ass one day (as opposed to someone else's??) and it got wildly out of hand, so I had to vomit this garbage out somewhere. You're welcome.
> 
> I'm using my vast repertoire of fantasy novels and also Google and I'm very obviously borrowing concepts from ASOIAF (Game of Thrones) in some places so I'll be sacrificing a small and very soft goat tonight in GRRM's honor. May his crops be plentiful this year, and also when's the next fucking book sir?? smh  
> (Please note that this isn't a GoT AU, I'm just an idiot lmao)
> 
> I've decided to write out intros for the main characters, just to make things clearer:
> 
> -King Yakov and Queen Lilia Felskaya of the Kingdom of Istoriya.
> 
> -Prince Yura Felskaya (16).
> 
> -Ser Viktor of House Nikiforov (25), a knight of Prince Yura’s Royal Guard, High Commander, and occasional and unofficial adviser to the King.
> 
> -Ser Christophe of House Giacometti (24), a knight of Prince Yura’s Royal Guard, Second-in-Command. Knight to Squire Masumi of House Mistero (21).
> 
> -Ser Georgi of House Popovich (25), a knight of Prince Yura’s Royal Guard, bastard son of King Yakov (allowed to claim the House of his mother). Knight to Squire Otabek of House Altin (19).
> 
> -Ser Celestino of House Cialdini (35), Knight to Squire Yuuri of House Katsuki (20).
> 
>  
> 
> I'll be titling each chapter with the disgustingly stupid names I made up while drafting this on Tumblr. Please enjoy. Or not. That's how it is on this bitch of an earth.

Ser Viktor Nikiforov.

Ever since he had been brought to the castle as a page, Yuuri Katsuki has never taken his eyes off of him.

Yuuri had watched him as he progressed throughout his squirehood, and at the age of eighteen, Ser Viktor had been dubbed a knight--the youngest knight in the history of Istoriya.

He was second to none other–-the fiercest, the strongest, the most skilled knight in the entire kingdom. Yuuri would rush towards the castle gates whenever the King’s Regiment returned from battle, searching frantically for him. And there he’d be, always, tall and regal upon his horse, leading the brigade home. The High Commander.

Yuuri has never taken his eyes off of him.

From afar, anyhow. Once Yuuri had been promoted to a squire, he had dreamed that he might have the chance to be in the knight’s presence, to see him up close, to know he was real, and to one day stand beside him, _fight for him_ , and prove himself a worthy knight.

When Yuuri had watched the knight fight, he had tried to master his style, his techniques, and he didn’t exactly do a great job at it. But that didn’t stop him. Not ever.

When the knight had sheared his magnificent long silvery hair, Yuuri had done the same to his dark and not-so-magnificent hair, although he hadn’t had much success trying to grow it out as long in the first place.

When Yuuri had first seen the knight’s horse–-a great beautiful shaggy beast with massive furred hooves and a glossy brown coat–-he had begged Ser Celestino for one just like it; for a squire must choose their horse upon gaining their new title. Yuuri never asked for more than he needed, so his knight had relented, granting him this one wish. After much searching, the boy soon found himself riding a gorgeous chestnut horse of the same breed. He named him after Ser Viktor, and prayed to any god listening that the knight would never find out.

As the nephew of a Lord and the son of a noblewoman, Yuuri had decent enough opportunities within the castle among the nobles of the Court. But he had chosen this. He had declined all privileges given to him, and had chosen this, because it was his dream. And he was going to make it happen.

But he was wrong. He was a fool to think that he could ever meet Ser Viktor as an equal. Or at all.

At this moment, however, Yuuri’s attention isn’t focused on the knight for once, and it isn’t focused because he’s too busy panicking, and he’s too busy panicking because tomorrow is the Prince’s nameday, and the Squire’s Tourney. It’s his first, and he’s terrified that it’ll be his last.

Ser Celestino had summoned him one last time for a bit of training before the tourney, and Yuuri is late, and Yuuri is panicking, and Yuuri now rounds the corner of a corridor and barrels head first into something he’ll regret for the rest of his life, he’s sure of it.

==========

Ser Viktor looks down at the boy on the floor who has just catapulted into him, and recognizes him as Ser Celestino’s squire, although he doesn’t recall his name. Viktor’s seen him before, gawking at him when he thought he wasn’t looking. He’s used to people gawking. But this boy gawked like none other. Viktor smiles as charmingly as possible, knowing that he must be this boy’s hero, and he extends a hand to help him up.

“You ought to be more careful, boy.”

He doesn’t mean for it to come out so pompous, but it does, and he sees awe in the boy’s eyes.

No. Not awe.

Terror?

Before Viktor can say anything else, the boy scrambles to his feet and runs. He doesn’t look back. Viktor stares after him, bewildered and a bit insulted. He’d run from _me?_ Ser Viktor Nikiforov of the Royal Guard, High Commander, and the most handsome knight in service to the King?

Yuuri, he thinks suddenly. That was his name. Yuuri Katsuki.

\----------

Tonight is the eve of Prince Yura's nameday. There’s a banquet held on this day every year, and the Prince’s banquets are always grand, especially during peacetime. With the King and Queen’s permission, and under the watchful eyes of a handful of appointed guards, Prince Yura is given full rein of his sixteenth year’s banquet.

“Now that I am a man,” he says loftily, “I demand a man’s banquet!”

And a man's banquet is generally a glorious disaster.

Viktor is a bit tipsy, and he’s holding his goblet in one hand and consoling his fellow Royal Knight, Ser Georgi, with the other, patting his back as he sobs into his fifth cup of ale. He’s speaking of some Lady of the Court, but Viktor isn’t listening. He isn’t listening because there he is, the boy from before, and doesn’t he look miserable?

Yuuri Katsuki is sitting in the far corner, nervously accepting large amounts of the ale Ser Celestino is plying him with, and he continues to look miserable as his knight stumbles away drunkenly.

Viktor almost wants to go to him, although he doesn’t know why. But before he can react, his other fellow Royal Knight, Ser Christophe, throws his arms around him and shouts into his ear over the sound of the musicians playing in the corner.

“And what are you doing here, in the company of this fool?” He nudges Georgi aside, and the other man splays himself across the bench, still sobbing. “Grab your ale and join us!” He waves grandly at the chaos unfolding in the banquet hall.

Lord and Ladies are dancing on the tables, knocking aside the cups and trenchers as knights and soldiers raise their drinks and roar with laughter, and Viktor can see quite a bit of shed clothing strewn everywhere. Even the servants are being caught up in the madness, and no one protests because it’s the eve of the Prince’s nameday.

Viktor scans the crowd and spots him, cheeks flushed from the wine he’s drinking, and he seems to be deep in conversation with Georgi’s squire, Otabek, and he blushes even harder when the squire reaches over to brush a strand of blond hair from his face.

The King and Queen themselves are deep in their cups, and King Yakov is leaning towards Queen Lilia amorously as she pretends to be uninterested, although the redness of her face is from more than just the wine.

Christophe is already dragging him towards the throng of drunken dancers, and with much egging on by him and the other knights, Viktor downs his ale, as well as the other three cups that are now being shoved at him.

As he raises his goblet for perhaps the fourth toast in the past half hour, he recalls the boy sitting so miserably in the corner all the while, and glances behind him to check--but he’s gone, and the only things in his place are empty tankards, _far_ too many, and Viktor has only a moment to register this before the crowd around him begins roaring and hooting, and he spins around and sees _him_.

The boy is dancing with wild abandon, passing between the arms of each partner as all those around him cheer him on, and Viktor has never seen him so uninhibited, so unabashed and so _very inappropriate_ , as he sees that Yuuri has stripped down to his smallclothes--and now that he looks around, he sees others following suit, and is that Christophe, already down to his breeches, shirtless, with his squire in one arm and a Lady in the other?

Madness, he thinks, and he catches sight of Yuuri again. The laces of his shirt have come undone and his chest is glistening with spilled wine, and Viktor has the insane urge to lick it off of him; a thought that nearly sends him reeling. Except now the boy sees him, he’s looking _straight at him_ , and Viktor is frozen on the spot, his knees nearly giving out as Yuuri grins and makes his way towards him.

“SER,” he yells loudly, directly in his face, as if he were drunk enough to forget volume, “SER VIKTOR, COME JOIN US!”

Before Viktor can say a word, he’s dragged off yet again. Within the press of the crowd Yuuri turns to him, but he hasn't relinquished his hold on his arm. He fixes Viktor with bleary eyes and a drunken smile.

“Care to dance, Ser?”

The next hour or so is an absolute blur; a cacophony of shouting, hooting, and laughter, and everyone reeks of wine and ale, and Viktor has tripped over what he thinks is the seventh person laying in a drunken heap on the floor, as he’s lost count by now, and he’s never had this much fun in his entire _life_. He looks down at the boy in his arms, and the boy looks back up at him, grinning, and Viktor feels something odd in his stomach. Perhaps it's all the ale.

Yuuri has been leading him all the while, and Viktor lets him sweep him off his feet. The boy's hands are so warm, as warm as his eyes as he looks up and grins again.

“You dance well, Ser!”

“Not half as well as you. And we’ve been at it for ages, your stamina is quite-”

He yelps in surprise because Yuuri has just dipped him without warning, and Viktor stares up into the most bright and shining eyes he’s ever seen, and he has only the briefest of moments to think, _I’m in love_ , before he’s whipped back up and nearly topples over.

“Steady, Ser,” the boy laughs, holding him up, “are you alright?”

“Absolutely fine,” he says, although he’s absolutely not.

He tries to catch his breath for a minute before Yuuri attempts to whisk him away again, but the boy hasn’t done so yet. Yuuri's standing there, still holding him, and surveying the room with what looks like drunken contentment.

“A fine night!” he shouts, and those still dancing shout their agreement in return, and those drinking raise their tankards in salute. "A fine night for our glorious Prince!”

Prince Yura tears his attention from the squire Otabek long enough to bask in the praise, but for a split second Viktor sees him narrow his eyes as he catches sight of them, at Yuuri’s hands still clutching Viktor, and suddenly it’s gone and he’s smiling triumphantly as all toast to his honor.

“Yes, a fine night,” Yuuri murmurs, and his smile is mischievous as he looks Viktor up and down, “a fine knight, indeed.”

Viktor finds himself at a loss for words, but Yuuri more than makes up for it with ceaseless and slurred chatter, and he still has not let go of him.

“The Prince… look, he sits there with the squire Otabek. They’ve been speaking and drinking for nearly the entire night, haven’t they?” He sighs, and for some reason he’s gazing at them with some sort of… longing?

“Imagine that. Being blessed with the Prince’s favor _and_ with the honor of being the squire of a Royal Knight. To train under a knight of such skill, such might, such courage! I can think of no greater honor,” and as he turns his attention back to him, Viktor is suddenly very aware of his proximity, and he’s also now very aware that he’s being slowly backed into one of the tables, and he can feel the edge of the bench against the backs of his legs.

“The squire of a Royal Knight,” the boy murmurs, “I can only… I can’t imagine-”

He stops, eyes wide with shock, and looks up at Viktor as though he's seeing him for the first time.

“ _You_ ,” he breathes, “ _you’re_ a knight of the Royal Guard!”

This is common knowledge, but Viktor slowly and warily nods anyway. “Yes, I-”

In an instant, Yuuri has pushed him back, and Viktor falls hard onto the bench, and Yuuri has fallen into his lap, and Yuuri is _straddling_ him, and Yuuri is gripping his shoulders with a strength that Viktor would have never guessed he possessed.

“Ser,” he says, his eyes struggling to focus on him clearly, “allow me to be your squire!”

Had the entire banquet hall been set ablaze, Viktor wouldn’t have noticed, as his heartbeats are deafening, and Yuuri’s bright eyes are blinding.

"I-I’m sorry- what?" He’s sputtering like a fool now, but Yuuri cuts him off again.

“Ser, let me be your squire. You haven’t got one, have you? You never have.”

“Well… no, I haven’t.” Viktor squirms under Yuuri’s intense gaze, feeling as though he’s being scolded.

“You’re a legend, Ser. High Commander, and the greatest knight that has ever lived!” He’s exaggerating, but Viktor certainly wouldn’t deny it. “Your skill cannot go untaught! That would be such a waste, Ser. If I win in the tourney tomorrow, can I… will you…” his grip slackens, and his head lowers, and he’s speaking so softly now that Viktor strains forward to hear him, “I’ve always dreamt… I’ve wanted this for so long… if I could just…”

Viktor scrapes up his wits from where they’ve shattered upon the floor of the hall and finally attempts a proper sentence. “Yuuri. I’m honored that you think so highly of me. But you are already in the service of Ser Celestino, and he’s just as brave a knight as-”

“I know that,” Yuuri says sadly, “but I want _you_.”

His arms are around Viktor now, his face buried into his shoulder, and Viktor feels his resolve melting away. “Yuuri,” he says gently, “you can’t.”

“No,” he feels Yuuri’s breath against his neck, “but _you_ can.” Viktor can barely stutter out a response before he feels the boy’s breath against his ear now, and the feeling sends jolts down his spine. “You’re The High Commander. Surely you have the authority…” his voice slurs into an unintelligible murmur.

“What?”

“Anything to be your squire, Ser,” he breathes, “anything…”

Without warning, Yuuri presses his hips down into his, and Viktor feels his wits slip from his fingertips once more because now Yuuri’s tongue is sliding into his ear, hot and wet, and his fingers are fumbling with the fastenings of Viktor’s doublet, and Viktor’s mind must have gone blank because without thinking, he grabs the boy’s hips, grinding upward into them, and Yuuri lets out a throaty moan that sends Viktor’s head rolling back, the words ‘oh, _god_ ’ trembling on his lips as he feels Yuuri’s own against his throat and now Viktor’s hands are sliding down his-

“YUURI!”

Viktor starts so violently that he nearly sends the boy flying off his lap. Yuuri turns to see Ser Celestino striding-–stumbling, rather–-towards them, tankard of ale still in hand.

“Ser!” Yuuri chirps happily. “Hello, Ser!”

“Yuuri!” Celestino booms again, clapping a friendly hand on the boy’s shoulder. “There you are!” He pauses to nod at Viktor in greeting, as though the flustered and disheveled knight isn't currently being straddled by his squire. Viktor nods back hesitantly.

“Come now, Yuuri! Off we go. You’ve got a busy day tomorrow and you need your rest. You won’t be any good in the tourney if you’ve fallen asleep atop your horse!”

“Yes, Ser!” Yuuri slips off of Viktor’s lap and links arms with his knight, and the pair stumble drunkenly towards the doors of the banquet hall.

Yuuri doesn’t look back.

\----------

Viktor still hasn’t moved from that same spot when Prince Yura comes storming at him.

_**“Viktor!”** _

“Oh?” he replies airily. “Have we abandoned titles? Are we that-”

“Do not test me, _Ser_ ,” the Prince hisses. “You may have my father’s favor but you _will_ treat me with respect. I’m no longer a child.”

Viktor rises to his feet, inclining his head. “Yes, my Prince. How may I be of service?”

Yura takes a second longer to continue scowling at him. “What were you doing with that boy? Ser Celestino’s squire?”

“We were, ah, having a pleasant conversation. Say, weren’t you having the same sort of discussion with Ser Georgi’s squire? What was his name? Otabek?”

“I- that’s– you will NOT-” Yura’s face grows red as he sputters furiously at him.

“You do so remind me of a cat, my Prince.”

“I _asked_ you a question, _Ser_ , and you _will_ answer it _now_.”

Viktor shrugs as respectfully as he can. “We were doing precisely what you saw us doing. I cannot deny that.”

The Prince stares at him for a moment with an unreadable expression, then says, slowly, “He will not be your squire, Ser.”

Viktor, taken aback, can only gape at him.

“Do you understand?”

“I- my Prince,” he snaps out of his daze, “I don’t know what you mean, I haven’t-”

“I’m not a fool. You will not take him as your squire. In case you’ve forgotten, my sixteenth nameday marks me as a man, and as such I will begin my real training. Under the authority of The High Commander. Which is you,” he adds, as though Viktor were slow.

“I… yes. Yes, of course. As High Commander, I-”

“You HAVE forgotten, haven’t you? You’re a disgrace, Viktor Nikiforov.”

“I know,” he says cheerily. “I’ll try my hardest to regain my honor, my Prince.”

But the Prince doesn’t seem amused. He fixes Viktor with a cold glare. With the eyes of a solider.

“Heed my words, Ser Viktor. You will not take him as your squire. That’s an order.”

“Yes, my Prince.”


	2. Gay Knights 2: Electric Boogaloo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tourney begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I'd post one more chapter just to get things rolling. I think I'll do regular updates on Monday?

The Squire’s Tourney happens once a year on the Prince’s nameday, and its purpose is to ensure that all knights under the King’s service have squires worthy enough to be dubbed knights themselves someday. Potential squires of respectable Houses journey far and wide to challenge the current squires. Any squire skilled enough to defeat his opponent stays on for another year with their knight. Any challenger skilled enough to defeat a squire replaces them, and the defeated squire is demoted to a footsolider.

It is not a tourney to be taken lightly, and at the moment, Yuuri Katsuki feels the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’s watching his potential opponents as they melee to decide which of the many contenders will be considered worthy enough to be in the lists and tilt against the castle’s squires. He had been taken in by Ser Celestino after his mother had passed, and as a close friend of hers, he had accepted him as his squire instead of being appointed one at the Squire’s Tourney.

And now it's finally time for Yuuri to prove his worth.

His vision is blurring and his hands are shaking, and he barely registers Ser Celestino’s words of encouragement.

“Yuuri!” he booms. “Your first tourney! You have the skill and courage of a true knight. You’ll prove that worth to the entire kingdom, won’t you? Of course!” He slaps his back cheerfully, but Yuuri doesn’t respond, because the words ‘the entire kingdom’ are echoing in his skull, and by the time his armor and horse are being readied, he feels as though he’s soaked with sweat through to his surcoat.

The sudden uproar from the spectators means that the top combatants have been chosen, and are now drawing lots to decide which of the squires they’ll be challenging. The competitors soon join the squires as their horses are too being readied, and this is often the point where both parties meet for the first time. Often with dubious results. Yuuri had once heard of a fight that had broken out between a squire and his opponent before the tilt had even started. It hadn't gone well.

Yuuri is busy examining the grass very intently before he realizes that there’s someone standing in front of him. He braces himself, presuming that this is his opponent, except...

“Hello! I’m Phichit. Of House Chulanont.” The other boy extends a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Yuuri Katsuki.”

The boy is dark--of skin, of hair, of eyes, but his smile is dazzling bright. It's the most genuinely cheerful smile Yuuri has ever seen, and he clasps arms with him awkwardly, mumbling a bewildered, “Well met, sir.” 

“You seem as though you’ve got a kind soul beneath your nerves, my friend,” Phichit says. And still beaming, he adds, ”It’s a shame I shall have to crush it today. I’ll see you in the arena.” And he promptly walks away.

Yuuri likes him immediately.

==========

In the grandstand, Viktor eyes the arena nervously. He’s standing at attention beside the royal seats of the King, Queen, and Prince. Ser Georgi, the King's bastard son, stands close by, and is miserably eyeing someone down the length of the stand; some Lady of the Court, Viktor assumes. Ser Christophe seems nonchalant, though Viktor can sense his anxiousness. It's no secret that he has taken his squire Masumi on as his lover, though such a thing between a knight and their squire is generally frowned upon.

“Afraid to lose your squire?” he asks casually, as though speaking of the weather.

Christophe can barely conceal his nerves, running a hand through his cropped blond hair in distress. “It’s easy to be flippant when you haven’t got one, isn't it?” He pauses, then smirks. “It would be a shame if any of our loyal squires were lost today. Ser Georgi’s... Ser Sara’s... Ser Celestino’s...” he trails off.

Viktor grits his teeth and says nothing, turning his attention back to the arena. The first pair have entered.

==========

Yuuri is fidgeting in his armor. He tries to calm himself, and his horse as well.

“There, there, Vicchan,” he says soothingly. The horse nickers as Yuuri strokes him gently. “It’ll be alright.”

He’s the last squire to compete in this tourney. Which means he’s had several entire rounds to panic as silently as he can. He’s lost track of the amount of times he’s nearly passed out and toppled off his horse, and suddenly his name is being announced, and suddenly he’s riding into the arena with his blunted jousting lance in hand, and suddenly he’s in front of Phichit, whose smile still hasn’t left his face. They clasp arms and nod. “Good luck,” Phichit whispers, and rides back to his position.

In this tourney, the riders must tilt until one is unhorsed, or one’s lance is broken. This sometimes takes several rounds. Or sometimes just one.

The various rules and customs are being announced, and Yuuri glances nervously around the crowd to find his knight when suddenly he catches sight of Ser Viktor. He's staring at him so intently from the grandstand that Yuuri feels as though a hole is being burned through his very soul. They lock eyes for a second, and as Yuuri turns away to begin his tilt, he can still feel Ser Viktor’s burning gaze. Something unknown lurking within him awakens, and he lurches forward with a strength he’s never felt before.

He breaks Phichit’s lance on his shield and unhorses him at the same time at a record-breaking speed.

The crowd gasps an instant before the cheering swells to a volume that feels deafening, or perhaps it’s just his heartbeats thundering in his ears, and he watches Phichit right himself and mount his horse once more, feeling guilty. The other boy laughs. “It seems I’ve underestimated you, Yuuri Katsuki! Well fought!”

“You as well.” He’s still in a daze. All riders are now gathering to one end of the arena, and the victors ride forth, performing their customary lap around the arena as the spectators cheer and shout their names. They're then each given a wreath of flowers, as a symbol of the upcoming spring and as the start of a new year serving their knight.

They take turns riding out to present their offerings. A very young and nervous-looking rider, Guang-Hong, presents his wreath to Ser Leo, who accepts it with a lazy and carefree smile. The squire Emil has ridden out to Ser Sara, and her twin, Ser Michele, doesn’t look very pleased to see that he's earned another year in her presence. His glare never leaves the two of them, even as he accepts his wreath from his current squire, Sueng-gil. A loud and boisterous squire named Jean rides out to Ser Mila, and presents his offering to her with a grand and unnecessary flourish. The Royal Squires, Otabek and Masumi, ride towards the grandstand where both their Royal Knights stand at attention above them.

Yuuri almost doesn’t realize that it’s his turn to ride out until the wreath is being shoved into his hands. He spots Ser Celestino and heads towards him, but wait, these roses are blue, so deeply and beautifully blue, and they remind him of something--something he barely remembers.

He looks up at the grandstand once more, and his gaze meets Ser Viktor’s.

His eyes, Yuuri thinks. His blue eyes.

==========

Viktor had been bored for the majority of the tourney, though he did congratulate both of his fellow Royal Knights for keeping their squires. He was certain that the young Prince was happy to have the squire Otabek still in service, as he caught him grinning at the other boy’s victory.

Viktor had only paid attention when it was time for Yuuri to ride, and when their eyes met, he had felt frozen on the spot. He had nearly lost his restraint and cheered at the boy’s record-breaking score, and he was relieved enough to even tolerate Christophe’s teasing.

The squires are presenting their offerings now, and Viktor is in the middle of turning away, bored again, before he catches sight of Yuuri looking up at the grandstand. Looking up at _him_. He’s clutching the wreath in his hands and his eyes are on him, burning bright. Viktor has seen that look.

Don’t, he thinks frantically, don’t, you stupid,  _stupid_ boy, and Yuuri is beginning to nudge his horse in his direction when suddenly the Prince rises out of his seat.

“HALT!”

A hush falls over the crowd. Yuuri stops on the spot immediately, and his eyes widen with shock.

Prince Yura spreads his arms and smiles at them all. “Well done, brave squires. You all have the makings of true knights, and I eagerly await your service. However,” and he pauses for effect. The crowd shuffles in anticipation.

 _“However_ , this tourney will have a different ending this year. Every nameday, I have watched brave riders prove their worth. I longed to prove myself as well.” He stands up straighter, trying to appear taller. “On this day, I am a man. And as a man, I will enter the tourney myself--as the final challenger!”

Spectators cheer at this revelation after recovering from the shock of it all. The Prince will ride!, they shout, our Prince will ride!

The Prince raises his arms again, silencing the cheers.

"The rules are simple. I will choose my opponent from the current victors. We will ride, and,” he pauses again. The crowd’s anticipation is nearly palpable now.

“Should the brave squire best me, they will end their service to their knight. Their previous opponent will replace them.” He allows the gasps, then silences them once more. “They will end their service, because they will then be in the service of a new knight.” He raises his hand and gestures grandly towards...

“Ser Viktor!”

Viktor is so taken aback that he can do nothing but gape at the Prince.

“Ser Viktor is a knight of my Royal Guard, and The High Commander. It is a shame that his skill has gone untaught and therefore wasted. A squire in his service will become a fine knight, indeed.” He smiles at Viktor, but Viktor sees the venom in it at once.

“However,” he says again, “should my opponent fail...”

Viktor is beginning to panic.

“They will not only end their service as a squire, but also forfeit their right as a soldier, and as a resident of the castle. They will be cast aside, never to return and set foot within my walls again.”

The crowd of spectators burst into a confused jumble of sounds, though sounds of excitement soon follow. What a grand challenge this would be!

“My challenger will be a squire who has proven themself a fierce and determined rider. One who has defeated their opponent in record time.” He raises his hand once more, but this time he directs it at the bewildered boy still sitting atop his horse in the center of the arena.

“Yuuri Katsuki!”

Viktor’s heart stops.


	3. Gay Knights 3: The Gayening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri's fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to update on Fridays lmao

There’s a ringing in his ears, and the world fades to white, and he’s never felt so alone in his life. His face is tingling and he feels his body go numb.

Don’t panic, he tells himself, do anything, anything at all, but don’t panic.

“Yuuri Katsuki.”

The Prince’s words pierce through the haze of his hearing, echoing and echoing and suddenly he's there, suddenly he’s here, alone and in the center of the arena, sitting atop his horse and looking up at Prince Yura in horror.

The Prince is glaring down at him, and he does not break his gaze, even as he leaves, shouting commands for his armor and horse to be prepared. Yuuri breaks it instead, but only to find that Ser Viktor is no longer at the Prince’s side. Where has he gone?

Yuuri closes his eyes and tells himself not to panic.

==========

“Viktor, don’t be a _fool,”_ Christophe hisses at him. He's trying to restrain him, as Viktor had promptly turned around as Prince Yura left to ready himself for battle, and is now beginning to make his way out of the stands.

“Viktor!" Ser Georgi pants, grabbing hold of his arm. “Don’t do this, it isn’t worth it, he’ll have your head for this!”

Viktor isn’t listening. He can’t even if he wanted to, because his blood is pounding in his ears and his breathing is ragged and his heart is raging and-

“Ser Viktor.”

Only the sound of the King’s voice could have stopped him, and there it is, steady and stern. He turns around, and his fellow knights release their grip on him.

The King’s eyes are boring through him.

“Yes, Your Grace?” He takes a knee before him, his eyes cast down reverently.

“Get up,” King Yakov snaps. “You look like a fool.”

Viktor stifles a snort and rises, but his eyes are still wary.

“Where did you think you were going just now?”

“Out for a stroll, Your Grace, as these stands become awfully stuffy-”

He breaks off now, because the King is clearly not amused, and neither is the Queen, staring down her nose at him.

”I... I cannot stay here. I cannot watch a faithful squire be punished so cruelly. The Prince, he’s playing games with-”

“You will stay and you will watch. Back to your station, Ser.”

The King turns back towards the arena, and that’s the last of it, and now Viktor sees the two riders take their places on either side.

“It is cruel, isn’t it?” Georgi says softly. “The poor boy. I rather liked him.”

“Don’t speak as though he’s already lost,” Viktor snaps, but his words are nearly drowned out now, because the crowd is cheering, and now he’s racing to the edge of the stands, gripping its walls tightly, and just moments before they ride, he catches Yuuri’s eyes.

==========

Yuuri feels as though he’s gone into a sort of quiet shock. He feels numb. He does not tremble as he and the Prince clasp arms. Yura's jeering green eyes do not frighten him. As they ride to their respective places, Yuuri feels nothing.

Just before the signal that marks the begin of the tilt, Yuuri feels as though he’s being watched. As though someone is watching him in a such an intense way that Yuuri easily spots him, Ser Viktor, white-faced and wide-eyed.

Even from that distance, Yuuri can see his lips move. He mouths one word.

_“Win.”_

Suddenly, Yuuri feels everything.

\----------

It’s over in an instant, and Yuuri is trying to pick himself back up now, wheezing in the dust, and his vision is fading, and his hands are trembling. He finally stands, and leans against Vicchan to stop himself from collapsing again.

The crowd is absolute madness, shouts and jeers and cries and Yuuri wishes they’d stop, he wishes this tourney had ended with his own victory, he wishes...

He looks up at the grandstand once more, but Viktor is gone again.

Yuuri wishes he could feel anger, or accuse the Prince of cheating, but the Prince had fought fairly and with a skill that far surpassed his own. The Prince is now approaching him, and Yuuri is frozen in place, and he feels the panic start to rise again, bubbling to the surface, and he feels like he’s going to be ill. 

“Yuuri Katsuki. Well fought.” He says it with a slight sneer that suggests that it was not. He turns to the crowd now, raising his arms triumphantly. The crowd is in a frenzy, but a signal from the Prince quells them.

“We have a winner,” he declares, “but we also have a loser. Squire Phichit Chulanont, ride forward.”

The boy rides to them, and the mention of the title is not lost on him. He’s smiling, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“From this day forward, you will be in the service of Ser Celestino. You are to be his new squire, and train under his guidance in order to become a knight fit for my army. You may now ride to your new knight.”

“Thank you, my Prince.” Phichit takes as quick a look as he can at Yuuri before he rides off, and his smile falters for an instant.

“Now,” the Prince says, and he’s turning to look at Yuuri now, but before he can even begin, Ser Celestino rides forth.

“Please, my Prince!” he shouts. "Please have mercy on the poor boy. He-”

“I have not given you permission to speak, Ser,” Prince Yura says coldly and rather dismissively. “You may return to your squire.”

“I- my Prince, please, may he not stay on as a soldier? At the very least, a servant of the castle-”

“You. May. Return. To. Your. Squire. _Ser_.” the Prince snarls, and the knight heeds his command, though he’s looking at Yuuri with such sorrow that he has to turn away to stop himself from tearing up. The Prince turns to Yuuri once more.

“Yuuri Katsuki,” Prince Yura says flatly, “you are henceforth stripped of your titles and banned from this castle. Guards, escort him to the gates.”

==========

Viktor has to act fast. There isn't any time for shock, or moping, or even anger. He turns to the King and Queen and immediately takes a knee again, but this time his eyes are on the King’s face, and they’re steady and fierce. He will not let the King forget that he is Ser Viktor Nikiforov, the finest knight in the Kingdom of Istoriya, and his most loyal subject.

“Your Grace.” His face determined, his voice unwavering. “Please. I beg of you. Allow the boy to stay on as a servant. He has proven himself to be a faithful and skilled squire, and to let such talent go to waste is a grave mistake. Your Grace, with all due respect, Prince Yura acts out of naïvety. He has much to learn in the ways of mercy, honor, and justice. He must learn to love his subjects, and to sully his most significant nameday with such a dishonorable act is a terrible and ominous way to begin the coming days of his manhood. Your Grace, I beg this of you, and only this.”

The King has not taken his eyes off of him since the moment he began, and Viktor searches his face for any readable expression. For a moment his resolve falters, because the King has not replied, and time is ticking away and the boy is slipping away. But he must remain calm. He must appear calm.

The King is finally speaking, and Viktor nearly misses his words as he snaps out of his thoughts.

“Very well, then.”

He stands, and at the sight of this, the entire arena falls silent. It is a ringing silence, a deafening one.

“Unhand the boy.” His voice is low but powerful, and heard throughout.

Yuuri is being brought forward now, and he’s on foot because his horse has been taken from him, and he’s looking up at the King as though his dignity has been taken from him as well.

The King gives him no more than a cursory glance before continuing.

“Yuuri Katsuki. By my order, the Prince’s sentence is revoked. You are to stay on as a servant. The guards will escort you back into the castle at once to begin your servitude.”

==========

Prince Yura is absolutely _furious_ , nearly sending his horse crashing into Yuuri as he tries to cut him off.

“Father!” he shouts. "Father, this isn’t fair!”

He knows nothing of fairness, Yuuri thinks, and as he’s being taken from the arena, it finally registers that he’s safe. That he’s not being thrown out into the streets. His heart is pounding, and he realizes that this time it’s from happiness, and it’s the first time he’s felt it in a while. As he’s being escorted to the castle, he crosses paths with Ser Viktor, and the knight looks winded, as though he had just sprinted out of the stands to head him off, and Yuuri can do nothing but stare.

“Yuuri-”

But Yuuri is still being carried off, and as he leaves he wonders why Ser Viktor had been crying.

==========

“This was YOUR doing!” The Prince is screaming, and his face is red, and Viktor can do little more than stand before the throne, waiting until the boy screamed himself hoarse.

“Is it? I was under the impression that it was yours. I am not the one who decided to twist the ending of the tourney.”

The prince continues to scream, and Viktor takes this as an opportunity to reflect upon recent events. His groveling has saved the boy’s dignity and possibly his life, and did he know that? Does he know who is to thank for this?

He puzzles over this as he absently goes on with his “Forgive me, my Prince”’s and “I’m sorry, my Prince”’s and such. Yuuri has been taken on as a servant, but where? The kitchens? The stables? Is he to wait on some Lord or Lady, as the more high-class servants do?

He is finally being dismissed, and he has only one goal in mind.

\----------

But the days go on and on, and Viktor hasn’t seen Yuuri even once. He grabs a passing servant occasionally to ask if they’ve seen him, and please, will you tell me where he is?

But their answers are vague, or they simply don’t know. Viktor has the feeling that they’ve been ordered not to speak of it, as they squirm nervously under his gaze. Or perhaps Viktor is just becoming a madman and they can sense it.

He becomes more withdrawn, and he’s beginning to keep to his chambers now, and every servant who knocks to bring food, or fresh bedding, or new clothing receives a sullen glare, because they aren’t Yuuri. He has the sneaking suspicion that he’s being kept from him on purpose. But why?

\----------

Days pass into fortnights that pass into months, and it’s been nearly five months now since the tourney. Viktor has given up all hope of seeing Yuuri again. He’s slowly and somewhat reluctantly going back to his normal habits now, and his fellow knights are glad to see him again. Prince Yura, who had previously turned down his services in a rage, has now somewhat forgiven him, and Viktor steels himself for his first time attempting to instruct a pupil.

“Honestly,” he groans later that night, “I don’t know how any of you can stand it. Being an instructor is a _nightmare_. And I’ve only just started!” He’s nursing a pint of ale in the banquet hall, and although there’s food laid out before him, he’s lost his appetite.

“Oh, have you fallen from grace, Ser? No longer high above in your splendid tower, watching us peasants toil?” Ser Christophe bats his lashes charmingly at him. “Oh, such tragedy!” He’s pretending to swoon now, and amid the laughter Viktor simply raises his tankard and winks at him. “You should have become a court jester, as such talent goes wasted in your current profession, Ser."

The laughter is louder now, and Ser Christophe jumps out of his seat and performs the most flamboyant bow, with a far from necessary flourish, and Ser Georgi cuts him off with a much more extravagant bow that sets the lot of them howling, pounding on the table, and Viktor suspects that a bit too much ale has been flowing tonight. Ser Celestino has already passed out upon one of the benches, and Ser Sara is doing her best to keep her brother, Ser Michele, from doing the same.

“Boy!” Ser Mila calls out to a passing servant, and her cheeks are flushed red. "More ale!”

Viktor turns to accept the new tankards being offered, as the servant has stopped directly behind him, and as he does, time stops, and his heart stops, and the entire hall slips away, and it’s just him, it’s just him and-

“Here you are, Sers.” His eyes are cast down respectfully as he offers the tray forward.

Viktor can’t do anything but gape stupidly at him, so the boy nervously leans forward to place it upon the table himself.

He draws back, and Viktor finds his words again.

“Thank you, Yuuri,” he says softly.

Yuuri’s head snaps up in shock, and for a second that feels like an eternity their eyes meet, and Yuuri’s are the same soft golden brown that he remembers, and beneath the overgrown shaggy hair and the plain and stained servant’s garb, he sees him; he sees him and his eyes are just as bright as ever.

“Ser,” he whispers, then with a jolt straightens up and hastily retreats back to the kitchens.

Viktor’s eyes don’t leave him until he’s out of sight, and he turns back around to see Christophe, chin in hands, smiling sweetly at him.

“Ser,” he asks innocently, although the effect is ruined by his drunken slurring, “were you just making eyes at that servant?”

The table hoots, and Viktor receives a few nudges on either side.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He reaches for a full tankard. He's going to need it.


	4. Gay Knights 4: This Time It’s Personal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life as a servant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to just be inconsistent with updates because I'm impatient and also an idiot and variety is the spice of life anyway RIGHT?

Yuuri stumbles back into the kitchens now, nearly knocking over a passing serving girl with a tray full of pastries, and heads as far from the doors as he can. He’s panting, and his hands won’t stop shaking, and why _tonight_ , of all nights? Since the day he had lost his squirehood, life as a servant had been... inconsistent?

Nearly every day, Yuuri awoke to find that some new task had been assigned to him, and often in a vastly different area than the task assigned the day before. Just yesterday had been among the washers, and the night before he had been the personal attendant of one of the lesser Lords of the castle. 

He didn’t understand, and he still doesn’t. The only thing he knows is that he feels as though he’s a ghost, haunting the halls of the castle and vanishing in the blink of an eye.

Tonight was the first time he’d ever served in the banquet halls, and he had been surprised when he’d heard his new assignment. He rarely ever worked in areas where he’d be completely visible, so he was on edge as he left the kitchens. He had felt as though all eyes were on him, though he knew that no Lord or Lady or knight or any respectable person in the room would give him more than a passing glance. He knows that he isn’t very recognizable now, not with his long unkempt hair, the soot and flour from the kitchens spilled all over his plain servant’s tunic, his eyes cast down, his face worn. Not after all this time.

And yet there he had been, and he had spoken his name, he had _remembered his name_ , and his eyes, _his blue eyes_.

Yuuri clutches his chest, safely out of sight near the brick ovens. He basks in the heat, because his body has gone cold and numb, and he closes his eyes until he feels alive again.

“Yuuri? What are you doing back here?”

He starts guiltily, knowing that he should get back to work. Takeshi, the head baker, has his arms crossed and is giving him a look that says ‘you’re in trouble now, boy.’

“I-I’m sorry, sir! I just-”

“Get back out there, son,” he growls, “or-”

“Takeshi! Leave the poor boy alone.”

A young woman approaches them, wiping her flour-covered hands on her apron. She fixes Takeshi with a stern look before turning back to Yuuri and smiling. “Everything alright, dear?”

Yuuri exhales in relief. “Sorry, ma’am, I saw something that gave me quite a fright.” Yuuri is grateful that she’s more forgiving. Yuko is the Master Cook, and he’s fortunate that she has a soft spot for him. Before he became a squire, he would often sneak into the kitchens, and she’d slip him a few pastries. That hadn’t pleased her husband, and it certainly isn’t pleasing him now. 

“A fright?” His voice is a little more kind now, though he continues frowning. “And what do you mean by that? You aren’t avoiding your duties, are you?”

“N-no, sir! I- Well, I mean,” he fumbles nervously, “is there another task that I might perform? P-perhaps I could-”

“Your task this evening is to serve,” Yuko says, softly but firmly. “I’m sorry Yuuri, but you must.”

He feels his hands begin to tremble again, but he does his best to regain his composure. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, ma’am.”

As he exits the kitchens, tray in hand, he tries his hardest to avoid the table of drunken knights. He makes his way to the other end of the hall, but the knights are laughing and shouting again, and for one terrifying moment, he thinks that they’ve spotted him. He tries to look away, but he can’t.

He glances as quickly as he can, but pauses and looks again.

Ser Viktor is no longer there.

==========

There’s a back entrance to the kitchens, and Viktor knows it well. He had left the banquet hall last night in a hurry, downing his ale and excusing himself from the table. After retreating to his chambers, he had berated himself for being a coward. How could he have spent so long trying to find this boy, only to turn tail and flee once he did?

Tonight will be different. He can’t believe that Yuuri has been in the kitchens this entire time, considering the countless servants claiming not to know of his whereabouts. It all seems a bit suspicious, but he must try anyway.

The back entrance to the kitchens is near the ovens, and as Viktor approaches the door he sees that it’s open. The soft light of the fire falls upon the grass outside, and he can smell the bread baking. It reminds him of his youth, when he’d sneak to the kitchens to be given sweets by the kindly and elderly baker. A new baker has taken her place, and he was much less kindly and much less elderly.

But Viktor’s a knight of the Royal Guard now, not a mischievous child. He approaches the doors boldly and promptly sets foot inside. The bustle of the kitchens is just as he remembers, though it makes it difficult to spot who he's looking for.

“Oy, what are you- Oh! Ser, how may I be of service?” The young baker looks a bit nervous, considering the fact that the most respected knight in the entire kingdom has just casually walked into his bakery.

“Sorry to disturb you, but is there currently a young servant in here named Yuuri?”

The man frowns. “Yuuri? No. Not tonight.”

“Have you any idea where he might be?” Viktor tries his best to keep the desperation out of his voice.

“I-I’m not sure, Ser. Please forgive me.”

“Thank you,” Viktor says rather absently, but as he turns to leave, the baker speaks out once more.

“He seems to be assigned to different locations of the castle each day. I don’t understand it myself, but I hope it helps.”

==========

Yuuri collapses onto his small bed in the servant’s quarter. He’s among the higher ranked servants, and considering how menial some of his assignments were, he hasn’t much of an idea why, but he feels fortunate enough to have a somewhat comfortable place to sleep. It still confuses him--the fact that one day he may wait upon a Lord or Lady, and the next be in the scullery, washing until his hands were rubbed raw. He tries to think of any possible reason, but nothing comes to him.

He turns over in his bed, frowning. Encountering Ser Viktor yesterday had sparked something within him--something that had lain dormant. Or something that had never existed at all. What could it be? After his panic had somewhat subsided, he had found himself wondering that ever since.

He thinks of Ser Viktor again. His silver hair, sweeping across one eye so elegantly. His smile, only ever seen from afar, but Yuuri had always felt its warmth, and had prayed that one day it may be directed towards him. His voice had always made him feel weak. Again, he doesn't know why. He only knows that he wants to hear it again. He wants to hear it, and he wants to receive it--to receive the words that fall from the knight's lips. Lips that had spoken his name. Lips that looked so soft. Yuuri shivers.

And his eyes. His blue eyes. Eyes that had locked onto his so intensely during the Squire's Tourney. Eyes that had locked onto his last night. Blue eyes. For only a small moment, Yuuri had seen something strange in them. Only for a moment, but it made Yuuri's heart beat hard and fast. He wonders if Ser Viktor had been able to hear it, for it had sounded deafening to his own ears.

He places his hand over his heart now, and it's still beating hard and fast. This often happens when he thinks of the knight. He can't decide if it's happiness or fear. Perhaps it was both. But why?

As he drifts off to sleep, he wonders where he’ll be tomorrow, and if he’ll see Ser Viktor again.


	5. Gay Knights 5: They’re Back And Gayer Than Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Close encounters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was very short, so I'm posting the next now!

He’s been assigned to the stables today, and this was often the assignment he was the most excited for. His pockets are full of the fresh apples and carrots Yuko had slipped him this morning, and he feels a bittersweet pang in his chest as he approaches one of the stalls with them in hand.

“Hey, boy,” he says softly.

Vicchan nickers quietly and nuzzles Yuuri’s hand as he reaches out to stroke him. Yuuri tries to choke back his tears, but he feels them welling up anyways.

“I miss you, too.”

Yuuri's halfway through feeding him when the Stable Master enters and calls out to him.

“Come, Yuuri. You can’t stand there all day.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He leaves the remaining treats, but pockets one of the apples.

Mari beckons him over to remind him of his current tasks, as he isn’t placed into the stables often.

“I trust you remember the basics, at least,” she drawls lazily. Mari is rather easygoing, and very patient with him. They’d known one another well, as Yuuri had often visited his horse during his days as a squire. The first day he’d been sent to the stables as a servant, Mari had smiled at him so sadly. “One of us now, eh?” she’d said, and with a shake of her head had added, “It isn’t right, taking a horse from its rider.”

As he goes about his tasks now, he casts furtive glances at another stall. This one is in the more higher-class area of the stables, as Lords and Ladies insisted on preferential treatment for their mounts. Among these are the knights' horses, and Yuuri cannot keep his eyes from straying to one stall in particular.

He makes his way to it as inconspicuously as he can manage, and soon he’s standing before one of the castle’s strongest, fastest, fiercest horses.

And the friendliest.  

At the sight of him, the horse can barely contain his excitement, and Yuuri tries his best to quiet him.

“I’m happy to see you as well, Makkachin,” he whispers. “Here, I’ve brought you something.” He slips him the apple he had taken, and the horse seems content as Yuuri strokes his mane.

“Yuuri?” a voice gasps behind him.

The remains of the apple slip from his hand as he turns quickly, panicking, but it’s only one of the page boys. He lets out a sigh of relief, although he’s not entirely relieved, because-

“Yuuri! I didn’t know you’d be here!” The young boy’s eyes are shining in admiration. “It’s an honor to see you again, Ser!”

Yuuri gives him an exasperated look. “I’m not a knight, Minami.”

“But you're a squire!”

“Not anymore.” Yuuri has lost count of the number of times he's had to remind Minami that he's an ordinary servant now, just as he is.

“I’m going to become a squire, just like you! And then someday I’ll be dubbed a knight!” The boy is nearly vibrating with excitement, and Yuuri smiles sadly at him.

“No, Minami, you don’t want to be a squire like _me_.” And before Minami can begin showering him with praise and assurances that he was indeed the greatest squire that ever was, he adds quickly, “What are you doing here now, anyway?”

The younger boy starts guiltily, as if he’s just realized he’s forgotten something.

“I-I’m sorry, I was sent here to deliver the message to the Stable Master that Ser Viktor’s horse is to be readied at once. Where might she be?”

Yuuri doesn’t answer his question. Instead, he grabs the boy’s shoulders frantically. “Ser Viktor is to come here? This very instant?”

“I-um, yes, he wishes to ride out-”

Yuuri has already bolted halfway to the nearest stable doors, but comes to a stop and whirls to face the other boy.

“Do not tell him I was here. Please. Do that for me, Minami.”

Minami’s face reddens, ‘Y-yes, Ser! For you, Ser!”

Yuuri is standing outside of the stables now, casting panicked glances this way and that, trying to think of a place where he might hide, at least until the knight has come and gone. He sneaks as far from the nobles' quarter as he can, checking between gaps and entrances of the outer walls to ensure that no one will see him dart past.

He’s readying himself to fly past the next gap now, but he hears a familiar voice and freezes.

“I’m very sorry, Ser. If a page was sent to inform us of your coming, I certainly haven’t seen him. We’ve only a few grooms this afternoon, but I assure you that you’ll have your mount prepared as soon as possible.”

Yuuri has a split second’s realization that Mari might mention him, and he breaks out in a cold sweat. What is he to do?

He hears an easy laugh, soft and amused, and it sends shivers down his spine.

“No need to rush. I've an urge to ride and clear my mind, but it was not my intention to make it seem as though I were in a hurry. Perhaps the page boy has lost his way?”

“No,” Yuuri hears Mari sigh. “I see him there, by your horse’s stall. What is the boy doing?”

Their voices and footsteps have been retreating towards the nobles' quarter all the while, and despite Yuuri’s desperate need to flee, he needs to know whether or not Mari will speak of him.

He’s just outside the walls, and he can hear the other stablehands readying Ser Viktor’s horse, as well as Minami apologizing profusely.

He hears _his_ voice again, and the sound of it makes him weak.

“There, there, Makkachin. What’s got you so excited?” There’s a pause, and then, “Where’d you get this apple from, boy? Been sneaking off to the kitchens, have you?”

“Oh,” Mari says, “one of the stablehands brought a few in this morning. He likes to treat the horses whenever he’s assigned here, and he’s got a particular fondness for yours.”

There’s a longer pause. “I see.” Viktor’s voice seems distant, as though he were speaking to himself rather than to her.

After he’s ridden out, Yuuri rushes to finish his tasks as quickly as possible, and as he finishes cleaning the last stall, he begs Mari to let him return to the castle early. She shrugs and dismisses him, and with one final goodbye to Vicchan, he bolts for the kitchens. There’s a back entrance he’s familiar with, as he used to sneak there to receive pastries from the kind and elderly baker when he was younger. He catapults himself through the door and Takeshi nearly drops a tray of bread loaves in surprise.

“Yuuri, what in the hell are you doing?”

He stutters out his apologies, bent over and wheezing, and he hears footsteps approach, and Yuko’s concerned voice.

“Are you alright, Yuuri? What’s happening?”

Yuuri straightens up and tries to catch his breath. “I don’t know. And that’s the problem.”

==========

Viktor spends his training session with the Prince in a daze, trying to piece together the fragments of whatever the hell had been going on the past few days.

“You seem distracted, Ser.” Yura says, lowering his training sword. His voice is respectful, but Viktor can hear an underlying mocking tone.

“Forgive me, my Prince. A lot has been on my mind as of late. I apologize for impeding your training.”

“Well, what’s vexing you?”

Viktor is surprised to hear the Prince actually interested in his well-being. But of all the things he might confide in him, mentioning Yuuri is absolutely out of the question. The Prince’s dislike of the boy is still strong, and Viktor doesn’t need things to get more out of hand than they already are.

“Oh, a few strange occurrences. It’s really nothing to worry about, I’m being foolish.”

The Prince looks concerned, but there’s something not quite right in his expression.

“Strange occurrences? Such as?”

Viktor is starting to feel as though he’s being backed into a corner, and is doing his best to find a way out.

“I-my Prince, it’s really of no importance, I’ve just been crossing paths with- I mean, I’ve been seeing, er, a-and before this morning’s ride, as you suggested to me, I-I happened to-” he fumbles, “it really isn’t as awful as it seems, it’s all just very overwhelming, as it’s started just as we’ve begun our sessions, so I’ve got a lot on my plate as it is.”

“I see.” the Prince says softly. “That does sound very strange. Well, let us continue.” He raises his sword once more, and Viktor readies his shield and tries to focus.

==========

Yuuri had been put to work in the kitchens the rest of that day, as after he had barged in begging for a place to hide, Yuko and her husband had wasted no time assigning him various tasks. He finishes the last bit of washing up now, and as Yuko dismisses him, she gives him a sad and searching look, still concerned for him and his odd behavior as of late. “Take care, Yuuri.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He’s nearly reached the servants' quarters when he freezes suddenly. He nearly forgot something _very_ important, and he's going to be late. He races the rest of the way, grabs up his cloak from his bed, and bolts back out. No one seems to notice. The coming and going of Yuuri Katsuki is an enigma, and rarely anyone questions it nowadays.

This fact has given him an enormous advantage, as many of the guards hardly give him a second glance as he passes. Off to some strange new task, they suppose. Nonetheless, he wraps his cloak tight around him, moving in the dark.

He approaches the door of a small and abandoned storeroom, and after glancing about to ensure that no one sees him, he gently nudges it open.

The room is dark and dank aside from the low light of a torch hanging off the wall, and Yuuri enters carefully. “A pleasure to meet you,” he calls out softly.

“Well met,” a voice whispers back, and the squire Phichit steps out from the shadows, smiling just as always.

Yuuri grins. They had made their own password of sorts--the first words the other had spoken on they day they had first met.

He shuts the door carefully and Phichit strolls over, casually drawing a wooden training sword from behind him. He tosses it, and Yuuri catches it, weighing it in his hands and feeling as though a missing limb has been returned to him.

“Sorry,” Phichit says, with a small shrug. “It was the best I could sneak from training this morning.”

Yuuri doesn’t mind at all. Anything to have a sword in his hand once more.

Within a month of Yuuri’s new life as a servant, Phichit had come to retrieve his and his knight’s horses from the stables. Yuuri had been a bit shaken by this, as he was not often given tasks that would have him cross paths with his former fellow squires and their knights. As Yuuri readied their horses, the other boy had leaned toward him suddenly. “Meet me tonight in the empty storeroom near the armory. You know the one.” As he rode off, Yuuri had stared after him, bewildered.

Since then, Yuuri had been sneaking to that storeroom once every fortnight to be trained in secret. Phichit had told him that this was the least he could do to show his gratitude.

“If it hadn’t been for Prince Yura’s little surprise, I’d have never been here, a squire with the great privilege of serving a knight. But my fortune came at your demise, and as such I owe you, my friend.”

Yuuri has never been more grateful in his life to have a friend like Phichit.

“You’re late tonight,” the other boy says, though he says it playfully. “Fell asleep early, hm?”

“No, I’ve just... it’s been a very strange past few days. I can’t really describe it.”

“Has it anything to do with the Prince?”

Yuuri is taken aback. “The Prince?” he repeats, “What has he to do with this?”

“I- nothing.” Yuuri is even more surprised to see Phichit look so uncomfortable. “Just squire’s gossip, I suppose.”

“Gossip?” Yuuri repeats again, and he’s beginning to have a very bad feeling about all of this. “Please tell me, my friend.”

The other boy looks as though he’s having an internal struggle, and he speaks very hesitantly now.

“It was- I mean, after everything... there was a rumor going around.”

“A rumor?” Yuuri is beginning to feel very much like a parrot.

“Yes. A rumor that the Prince may have been keeping you from Ser Viktor, and-”

Yuuri nearly drops his sword. “Ser- keeping me? From V-vi-- I, what do you mean, _keeping_ me from him?”

Phichit looks as though he wishes he could have stopped his past self from saying that, and continues warily. “Well, yes. Ser Viktor has been looking for you, and it’s been suspected that-”

Yuuri does drop his sword now, as his palms are slick with sweat, and his heart begins to race. “He’s been _looking_ for me? _Him?_ For _me?”_

“Yes,” Phichit says slowly, “and many think that the Prince has been ensuring that your paths have not crossed.”

“Well, he’s doing a shit job at it,” Yuuri says a bit hysterically, “because this past week I’ve seen him more than my heart can bear.”

“Yes,” Phichit says again, musing, “how very strange. I wonder why the Prince... hm, well there’s nothing that can be done about it tonight. Let’s begin.”


	6. Gay Knights 6: The Gay And The Furious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schemes

 

Yuuri has avoided several near-encounters with Ser Viktor by week’s end. They seem to be happening at an alarmingly more frequent rate, and Yuuri is now constantly on edge. Ever since his last meeting with Phichit, he's been trying his best to foresee any obstacles the Prince might throw his way.

That is, no one has actually confirmed that the past week has been the Prince’s doing, but Yuuri believes it more and more each day. 

The time he’d been told to deliver fresh bedding, he had recognized that his destination was the Royal Guards’ quarter, and had “lost his way.” And although he had received a cuff about the ears for it, he thought it had been worth it.

Another assignment had him sent to a young Lord, who had sent him off with an important scroll to deliver. After he had realized that the gold ribbon around it marked it as a message to one of the Royal Guard, he had begged and even bribed a passing page to deliver it on his behalf. He had later returned to his Lord, happily accepting his praise for a job well done.

Today’s has him patrolling the corridors--a terrifyingly exposing task--and as he’s about to round a corner, he has a feeling that he better be careful and check. Sure enough, he sees the knight approaching from down the end of the other corridor. He turns tail and runs away so fast that he nearly crashes into a young man exiting a storeroom, large buckets of water in hand. He knows this one vaguely, and mouths a quick ‘sorry!’ before continuing his sprint.

“Yuuri!” the servant calls after him angrily.

Yuuri runs faster.

==========

“Yuuri!”

Viktor freezes. Yuuri? He continues his way down the corridor, much faster this time, and after he rounds the corner he nearly crashes into a servant carrying large buckets of water.

“ _For fuck’s sa_ \- Oh! S-ser, forgive me.”

“No, it was my mistake. I should have been more careful.” He’s speaking to him but staring past him, his eyes scanning the area.

“Was it you who said that?”

“S-said what, Ser?”

“Someone shouted ‘Yuuri.’”

The man scowls. “Oh yes, that one. Always up to something. Nearly bowled me over just now.”

“And where has he gone?”

“I haven’t a clue, Ser.”

Viktor quells the sudden urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him and demand to know just _why_ no one in this castle had a clue about anything. Ever. At all.

If there had been an opportunity, it’s gone now. Viktor continues to stare down the corridor.

==========

It isn’t until Yuuri is safely back in his quarters that he wonders just _why_ he’s been running from Ser Viktor. His idol, his hero, the knight he’s always dreamed of serving. He had been terrified to even speak a word to him during his squirehood, and now he never will. He had been ashamed to let Viktor see him in this state, and so he ran. But does he have reason to now?

Unfortunately for him, the knowledge that the knight has been searching for him comes coupled with the knowledge that this is all a part of some unknown scheme of the Prince’s. Yuuri's heart aches as he curls up beneath his blanket, trying to breathe slowly until his pulse stops racing. He’d receive quite a few more cuffs--possibly worse--for abandoning his duties mid-shift, but he doesn’t care. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift off to sleep. He dreams of dancing with someone he can’t remember.

\----------

The days go on, and soon enough Yuuri is back in the empty storeroom, training with Phichit.

“Are you alright, Yuuri? You don’t look well. Have you slept at all?” He lowers his shield and frowns at him.

Yuuri has not. At least, not as much as he should. He’s been paranoid, skittish, on edge and unable to rest, and it’s starting to take its toll on him.

“I’m fine, don’t worry. Come on, let’s-”

“No, let’s not,” Phichit says, although he says it gently. “Yuuri, you can’t train like this. You need to be in top form. And as of now, you look like a corpse. And you fight like one, too.”

Yuuri can’t repress a snort at this, and the other boy grins broadly at him.

“I’ll make you an offer, if you’ll take it, good sir!”

“Oh?” Yuuri quirks an eyebrow at this. “And what offer would that be, _good sir_?”

“We train in three day’s time. By then, I expect you to have gotten enough sleep to grant you the strength to wield a sword properly.”

Yuuri is surprised, as their training schedule has been consistent thus far, but he agrees. He returns to his quarters and finds that sleep comes more easily to him than ever.

==========

Viktor narrowly avoids the Prince’s sword, raising his shield a fraction of a second too late.

Prince Yura stops. “Ser, you look ill.”

Viktor feels ill. “Nothing, my Prince. Sleep has not come very easy to me as of late.”

The Prince frowns at him. “Well, Ser. I cannot train under a knight who can hardly keep his eyes open.”

“Am I being dismissed to take a Royal Nap, my Prince?”

Yura’s frown becomes a scowl. “Do as you wish, but do not return until you can at least defend my blows. Do not disappoint me, Ser.”

\----------

Viktor sits heavily on his bed later that day and, with his head in his hands, closes his eyes and wonders why he cannot sleep. The answer, of course, is obvious.

_Why does he run from me? Is he afraid?_

He falls back upon the bed, staring dully at the canopy above. It would look much better in blue, he decides, then rolls over onto his side. The cushions lay there, not giving him any answers either. He’s about to scowl and call them useless before he realizes that he’s descended so far into madness that he is about to quarrel with his bedding. 

Viktor sighs and closes his eyes again, willing sleep to come to him. His mind wanders to Yuuri once more, and he tries to tear his thoughts away from the boy. Yuuri is precisely the reason _why_  he is unable to sleep.

He will stop, he tells himself. He will end his search. He will give up hope. If he never crosses paths with the boy ever again, then that is what fate has willed.

“Goodbye, Yuuri Katsuki.”

Sleep comes to him in an instant.

==========

“What do you mean?”

Phichit has just pulled him aside in one of the corridors, whispering as quickly as he can to him.

“I mean exactly what I said. I’ve got some duties I must attend to, so I’m going to be late to our session.”

“Er,” Yuuri frowns slightly, confused. What duties could he have this late in the evening? “Then what do I do in the meantime?”

“Go on and wait for me. I’ve left a training sword in the storeroom. Practice your stance and your swings. That’s an order from your instructor,” he adds with a wink.

It’s been three days, and Yuuri has returned to make up for the lesson he had been too exhausted to complete. He feels much more rested and energetic now, and despite the strange request Phichit has made, he heads towards the storeroom and feels an odd excitement. His training is going well, and he means to prove it now. 

==========

“What do you mean?”

Viktor is blinking at Ser Celestino in confusion. A thief?

“It means exactly what I’ve told you, Ser! My squire Phichit has reported that several training weapons and shields have gone missing. It seems like a trifling matter, but no thief can go tolerated in this castle! And if they steal actual weapons? A servant may be sneaking about with a dagger, ready to strike! We cannot let that happen!”

The knight has gotten caught up in his excitement, and Viktor attempts to calm him.

“A thief, perhaps, yes, but have any guards been stationed?”

“This has only just come to our attention. I’ll alert the guards at once! However, you were planning to pass by the armory, were you not?”

“I suppose,” Viktor says slowly, seeing where this is heading. Viktor is indeed planning on doing so, as a page that he had recognized as the same boy from the stables had informed him that the Prince wished for Viktor to fetch the new sword that had been gifted upon him this morning by a gracious Lord.

Viktor would have been baffled by this request had he not already been familiar with the Prince’s odd demands. And Yura would trust no other to bring him such a treasured item. He also enjoyed bossing Viktor around. And so Viktor had accepted.

However, he’s certainly baffled now.

“I suppose you’d like for me to scan the area?”

“As the most feared knight in the kingdom, I’m certain you’ll scare off any thieves before the guards even arrive!”

“Very well,” Viktor sighs, and makes his way toward the armory.

==========

Yuuri lunges and sidesteps around an imaginary foe, and as he swings his sword, he chastises himself for overstepping and nearly toppling over. Despite that, he thinks he’s been doing a fairly decent job training himself.

He performs a series of blows that he’s practiced time and time again, because he had seen Ser Viktor perform the same in duels, and is determined to master the move. During his time as a squire, he had watched Viktor’s techniques very intently, striving to one day impress him and become a knight that would be his equal.

It was a foolish dream, he tells himself as he attempts another move of Viktor’s and nearly drops his sword. He knows he will never fight with Viktor on the same level.

He attempts the move once more, and this time keeps a better grip on his sword.

“Who needs an instructor or a knight when I’ve got myself to do the job,” he snorts to himself.

“And just how long have you been practicing my moves, Yuuri Katsuki?”

Yuuri’s sword clatters to the ground, and he feels his body go hot and cold at the same time. His hands trembling and his heart racing and his mind whirling and his stomach twisting, he turns to face the door, and his breath catches in his throat.

Ser Viktor is standing there in the doorway, looking at Yuuri with an expression that Yuuri can’t quite see in the torchlight.

“Well, boy?”

“I-I-I-I mean, I’ve been-y-you... er, I mean, since,” Yuuri is stuttering so badly that he’s internally screaming at himself to stop speaking; in fact, to not speak ever again for the rest of his life, but he continues, “I’m--I-Ser, I-I’m sorry, Ser, I did not mean to- I, ah, s-since I was a-, um, a squire, S-Ser.”

His vision is beginning to fade to black as his panic rises to his throat, and Yuuri wonders if he might either faint or be ill. Probably both. 

Viktor is wearing the same expression, though Yuuri is struggling twice as hard to see it through the haze of his mind.

“I see.” At the sound of Viktor's voice, Yuuri snaps out of his daze like a drowning man gasping for air, and he sees him, real and standing before him, and he trembles with an emotion that he doesn’t understand but feels anyway.

“You mean to tell me that you’ve been watching me since your squirehood, and practicing my techniques all the while?”

Yuuri, still terrified and oddly thrilled, nods. “Y-yes, Ser.”

Ser Viktor pauses a moment more before stepping fully into the room. Yuuri can finally see his face, and is so relieved to see him grinning that he nearly falls to the floor.

“Well,” Ser Viktor says cheerfully, “you’re absolutely terrible! You need a true instructor, or you’ll never become a knight!” He smiles sweetly at him.

Yuuri shuts down, unable to process anything, and he gapes at the knight like a fool.

“Yuuri Katsuki!” Ser Viktor Nikiforov declares, extending a hand towards him in a grand gesture, “from this day forward, you are to be my squire!”

Everything processes at once, and Yuuri faints.


	7. Gay Knights 7: It’s So Gay That We’re Unable To Come Up With A Good Title

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I realized how short this chapter is and how long the next few are soooo I figured I'd post this one sooner??
> 
> IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO GET HERE i am such a slut for viktor's tears /stammi vicino playing in the background

I’ve killed the boy, he thinks.

Yuuri Katsuki is lying in a heap on the floor. He had fainted shortly after Viktor had claimed him as his squire.

As Viktor rushes to his side now to try and make him come to, his mind whirls with emotions that he tries his absolute best not to show.

On his way to the armory he had inspected various rooms, searching for this supposed “thief.” He had walked in on a maid and a Lord intertwined in one of the rooms, and had promptly left them to their business. Other than that, he'd seen no sight of anyone in the area.

He had approached an abandoned storeroom, and as he gently nudged the door open, he had heard the grunts and sounds of one fighting.

There he was. 

Viktor could do nothing but stare, rooted to the spot. Impossible. Here, finally, after so long, after he had just given up hope. And he had found him by sheer coincidence. Or had it been? He didn’t care, because his eyes were fixed on this boy, this boy that he loved, this boy that he had ached and pined for, this boy that had cost him sleep and sanity, and he was here, in an abandoned room, and-

Was that one of my moves, he thought, taken aback. The boy was performing--rather, _trying_ to perform a particularly difficult series of blows and sidesteps that Viktor had coined as his own special technique. 

The boy was... alright. But he could do better. _Much_ better.

And this boy is currently in a dead faint on the floor. Viktor crouches next to him, gently nudging his shoulder.

“Hey. Boy. Yuuri. You.” He nudges a little more forcefully, and Yuuri finally stirs. His eyes lock onto Viktor’s, then roll back as he almost faints again.

“No,” Viktor says firmly. “Don’t do that.” He helps him sit up, and Yuuri’s eyes are open again, though he still seems in a daze.

“I...,” his face goes white, his eyes widening as he looks at Viktor, “Ser, I... what... what has happened?”

“Far too much for one day. Come on, up you go.” He stands, pulling Yuuri up with him. Their eyes meet again, and Viktor’s grasp on his hand lingers before he lets go.

“Come, now,” he says, turning to leave and beckoning to him. He sees how flustered Yuuri seems, and something in him feels oddly satisfied.

They step outside and there isn’t a single guard in sight. “Just as I thought,” he growls, “sword and thieves my arse.”

“Ser?”

“Nothing. Come this way.”

Viktor leads Yuuri towards his chambers and, attempting to fight off the urge to grab onto the boy and never let him go, he asks, “So, you’ve been training in secret with Squire Phichit?”

Yuuri starts guiltily. “How-how did you...?”

“A lucky guess,” Viktor says wryly.

“Well,” the boy takes a deep breath to steady his nerves, “yes. We... he’s helped me immensely. I didn’t... I didn’t want to- I mean, that is to say, I felt as though my skill had gone to waste, and I feared...”

“Losing your touch? Falling behind and forgetting how to fight?” Viktor suggests.

“Yes,” Yuuri says softly. Then, as though just remembering who he was speaking to, he tenses up, his face flushing red. It’s cute, Viktor decides.

“I-I... Ser, am I... am I really to become your squire?”

“If you wish,” Viktor says with a shrug, although internally he's panicking at the idea that the boy might decline. “I simply assumed that you would accept, considering that this was something you had always wanted, was it not?”

It comes across as arrogant, and it is, but Yuuri had said that to him the night of the banquet. He prays that the boy still feels the same.

“Yes!” Yuuri says too quickly, nearly shouting. He covers his mouth in embarrassment, blushing profusely, and Viktor gives him a rather bemused look. This isn’t exactly going as he had imagined. He hadn’t expected them to elope, riding off into the sunset--although Viktor certainly would not object to that. But something is just so strange about it all. Why is Yuuri so shy?

“The day you were stripped of your squirehood,” Viktor blurts out suddenly, “I had gone nearly mad with panic and rage, and I had convinced the King to revoke the Prince’s sentence. That is why you were not banned from the castle.” It sounds even more arrogant, as though he’s asking for the boy’s eternal gratitude, and his heart races as Yuuri opens his mouth to speak.

“I see,” he says softly. “So, you are the reason I am a servant.”

Viktor himself may faint now, and he gestures frantically, “No, no that isn’t what I--I only meant that- I thought that you might-” he’s lost his composure, and is sure that Yuuri is losing all respect for him.

To his surprise, Yuuri is now the one gesturing wildly, holding his hands up and shaking his head. “No, Ser! That isn’t- I hadn’t meant for it to sound that way! I’m only-I wanted to say it aloud, and I didn’t realize that I--Oh, I’m a fool, Ser, and I’m forever in your debt. You’ve saved my life. I’d rather be a servant here at the castle than out there in the streets. Who knows where I might have ended up.” 

With his sweet face and slender and finely-cut body, Viktor knows exactly where he might have ended up. He reflexively places a protective arm around him as they continue onward towards his chambers.

Yuuri gasps and turns a shade of red that Viktor thinks has beaten his previous record of shades, and he feels that same satisfied rush.

They pass the knights’ quarters and soon enough, they’re standing before a grand set of doors in the Royal Guards’ quarter. Yuuri marvels at it all, since he has never seen this quarter in all its resplendent glory before. Viktor takes a moment to allow him to soak it in, then takes his arm from around the boy so that he can push forward the two doors to his chambers with the most magnificent flourish possible.

Yuuri gasps, and Viktor feels satisfied.

==========

A beautiful and vast room lay before them. 

The first thing Yuuri sees is the splendid canopied bed and the grand windows on either side of it. The moonlight casts its soft glow through the sheer curtains, and Yuuri can see finely-detailed carvings covering the wooden bed posts--in fact, every single thing in the room seems to be finely detailed; the large desk laden with books and parchments, its elegant and cushioned chair, the patterned walls and the tall ceiling; gold-leaf and jewels everywhere, glinting in the firelight, dazzling. 

He turns about, taking in the sight of it all, and he sees the enormous bureau of fine oak, gold pattern creeping up its doors like gleaming vines, and scattered throughout the room are chests of the same lovely wood and gold; untidy and stacked, all full to bursting with odd trinkets and luscious fabrics and shining armor, and one that even seems to be full of several musical instruments, though they look worn and disused. He sees the stone-lined hearth, crackling with fire, and the polished silver cauldron before it, and he can feel the warmth caress him.

He notices the two extra rooms--though he can't exactly tell what's within them. In the short time he's known Ser Viktor, he feels that it's safe to assume that they're just as ridiculously extravagant.

There are too many things to possibly see at once, and he reels, dizzy and overwhelmed, but Viktor steadies him. 

“Steady, now,” the knight laughs.

Yuuri's been in a strange sort of shock throughout their entire encounter, and he now starts to feel a rush of emotions that he can’t explain. He turns to face the knight beside him, starting to tremble again. Viktor turns his head, smiling, and they lock eyes.

Blue, Yuuri thinks suddenly, so very blue.

Ser Viktor suddenly steps towards him, looking down at him with a peculiar expression. His eyes flicker in the firelight, but Yuuri sees them blazing from within.

Yuuri is about to speak when Viktor reaches out and cups his chin, raising his face up towards him, and his thumb brushes against his lips. Yuuri, frozen on the spot, stares up at the knight and feels as though he may faint again.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says softly, “I’m happy to have you here.”

“I-I’m happy to be here, Ser.”

Viktor tilts Yuuri’s chin up further and leans in, his face a mere couple of inches away. His thumb brushes Yuuri’s lips again, and Yuuri’s heart races at a speed that he thinks may kill him as Viktor’s thumb presses down against his bottom lip.

“Yuuri,” he says again, his voice husky and thick with an emotion Yuuri doesn’t understand but would like to listen to for the rest of his life, “I’ve waited so long for this. For _you_.”

Yuuri takes a shuddering breath as Viktor leans in to close the gap between them. He nearly does, but Yuuri jerks back, panicking.

“I-I- I, Ser, I,” he stammers wildly, “I-I’m sorry, I... I just, I mean,” he falters, his eyes cast down, and his blood is rushing to his face and his pulse is racing and his heart is pounding and his hands are shaking and-

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, and this time his tone is light and friendly, “are you alright?”

Yuuri's head jerks up, and he sees that Viktor is smiling at him in an amused way, his arms crossed, leaning very casually against his desk.

“I-I, er, Ser!” Yuuri has forgotten how words are formed to make coherent sentences.

“Come,” Viktor laughs, gesturing for him to follow as he turns away, ”I’ll give you the grand tour of my glorious chambers.”


	8. Gay Knights 8: Is This Still Going On? It Is? Jesus Fukc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor's weird. And an asshole.

“And this will be your own room,” Viktor leads the boy into the smaller side-room. It isn’t much, but the bed is spacious and draped with a silvery canopy and sheer curtains that stir gently in the breeze from a small opened window. There’s a finely-made bureau, a small wash basin, and a desk and chair. A few oil lamps hang from the walls, illuminating the room.

As Yuuri looks around curiously, Viktor continues, “The chambers of the Royal Guards were built with their Royal Squires in mind. Small but comfortably furnished rooms were made for them, which was rather a step up from the typical curtained alcove made for the average knight’s squire.” He pauses to glance at Yuuri, and he’s struck with the sudden irrational urge to want to please and impress him.

“Is it to your liking? Would you have anything changed? Added? Removed?” He hopes he’s not rambling like a fool.

Yuuri turns to him. “It’s _perfect_ ,” he breathes, looking at Viktor with wide-eyed admiration, and Viktor feels his stomach twist.

He’s certain that his blunder earlier had cost him dearly. He worries that the boy might be wary of him now, possibly even terrified of him. His face had been so sweet, tilted upwards towards his own, and the way his cheeks had flushed, the way he had quivered at his touch, the way his lips had parted for him so easily, it had nearly driven him mad.

Why did he shy away? Is he truly so skittish? Viktor recalls the feel of his lips against his throat, the boy’s hips pressing into his own, the moan that had etched itself into his mind forever, and the feel of his-

The boy is talking now, and Viktor realizes this as he’s halfway through his sentence.

“-do now, Ser?”

“I’m sorry?” he says rather absently, the moan still echoing in his head.

“What am I to do now, Ser?” Yuuri repeats. He looks anxious and unsure.

“Oh. Yes, right this way. I’d like to show you something.”

==========

Yuuri is led towards the other small room, and he’s soon standing before a large marble tub. He looks around and sees an assortment of bath items, a wash basin, and a few empty buckets. The room isn’t as grand as the others, but Yuuri is impressed nonetheless. He’s admiring the lovely glass lamp hanging above and enjoying its warm glow when he realizes that Ser Viktor has fallen silent.

The knight is staring at him now, looking him up and down thoughtfully. Yuuri tries not to fidget. He’s not doing a great job at it.

“A bath,” Viktor declares, finally.

Yuuri blinks at him. “Er. A bath, Ser?”

“Yes, a bath,” Viktor repeats. “You’ll soon see that I am the cleanest knight in the castle.” He winks at him.

Yuuri is unsure if this is a jest, but he thinks it better not to assume. Ser Viktor is certainly... _peculiar._

“You are to draw a bath immediately,” Viktor says, suddenly stern. He gives Yuuri a hard look and gestures towards the buckets. “Luckily, one of the wells is right outside of the nearest castle doors.”

Yuuri gapes at him. He feels as though this might become his default expression in the knight’s presence.

“Draw... a bath? I- Ser, I-I mean, isn’t there someone to-,” he immediately regrets the words before they’re even fully out of his mouth.

“Someone? Someone to do it for you?” Viktor’s voice is flat, his face deadpan. “A servant? Is that who you mean?”

“I-I’m sorry, Ser, I only meant-”

“Your first lesson,” the knight cuts him off, “is humility. You’ve been a squire again for less than an hour, and you think that means that servants are now beneath you?”

“No, Ser! I only meant that, er, there are certain jobs, certain tasks to be done by-”

“You’re right,” he cuts him off again, “there are indeed servants for these specific tasks. However, as of this moment you are to take on a servant’s tasks in order to be reminded that a knight is meant to protect the people. And to protect, they must serve. And I know,” he says as Yuuri opens his mouth to protest, “I know you have done your time. But let this and upcoming tasks ground you, so that your sudden status as the Royal Squire of a knight of the Royal Guard does not inflate your ego. Do you understand?”

Yuuri is indignant, but he nods anyway. He knows that Ser Viktor is right, but this lesson had come so suddenly that he’s having trouble believing it’s actually happening. He’s having trouble believing that anything within the last hour has actually happened, really.

“Very well, then!” Viktor says cheerfully, clapping his hands together and smiling at him. “Carry on! I’ll be in Ser Christophe’s chambers to have a word with him. I expect the tub to be filled by then. And, oh! Heated by the fire,” he indicates the hearth and its cauldron. “I do detest cold baths.”

\----------

Yuuri soon finds himself trudging down the corridor towards a set of castle doors just outside of the Royal Guards’ quarter, a bucket in either hand. It isn’t until he’s right in front of it that the guards stationed on either side notice him.

“And where do you think you’re going, boy?”

Yuuri supposes that ‘I’ve been sent to fetch water by a madman of a knight who demands to bathe at an unreasonable hour’ was not the sort of answer they might accept. He straightens up, trying to seem more imposing.

“Outside, to the wells,” he explains, hefting the buckets for emphasis. “I’ve been sent by my kni-I, er,” he falters, and he sees the guards grow more suspicious. No one would believe that he’s now in service to a knight of the Royal Guard, let alone The High Commander. It seems as though I must play the servant once more, he thinks wearily.

“Please, sirs, I’ve been instructed to fetch water for a knight of the Royal Guard,” he says, fidgeting anxiously, “I must fetch water to fill his tub, for he wishes to bathe at once.” He gives them a pitiful look that he hopes conveys that he may be in for a beating if he does not complete his task. He’s used to giving this look.

One of guards snorts loudly, and the other tries and fails to keep the smirk off his face as he asks, “Ser Viktor, is it?”

Yuuri nods, and the other guard sighs. “He’ll drain the castle dry, that one.” He squints at him suddenly. “Yuuri, aren’t you? You’ve drawn a poor lot this time, boy. Go on.”

Yuuri feels a rush of relief as he passes them and heads towards the well. With his inconsistent and odd assignments and Ser Viktor’s inconsistent and odd... _personality_ , the two make a fine pair, he thinks.

==========

Viktor is lounging in a very fine chair in Christophe’s chambers, chin in hand, frowning. The other knight is sitting at the edge of his bed where his squire is sound asleep, staring at Viktor in amazement.

“So it was him that night at the banquet hall? After all this time? I’d never have guessed.”

Viktor sighs heavily. “No, I knew at once. I heard his voice and I saw his eyes, and I knew.” Christophe is favoring him with a look that Viktor _knows_ precedes a merciless teasing, so he adds, “Don’t bother. I’m aware that I’m a fool.”

“A fool in _love_ ,” Christophe sighs dreamily, batting his eyelashes at him. Viktor squirms in his seat uncomfortably. Is this love? He thinks so, but the more he reflects on his actions, the more he feels like a fool who’s been chasing something that never was.

“I don’t think he likes me.” Viktor realizes that this sounds far more juvenile and stupid said aloud. “That is, I don’t think he feels the same way. Not the way he felt before. He’s nervous, shy, and I think that I scare him.” He frowns again. “I don’t understand why. That night,” he continues softly, “he was so... I really thought that he might... that we might...” he trails off, staring absently at nothing.

Christophe rises to approach him, and as he places a hand on his shoulder, Viktor snaps out of his daze to see that his face has softened with concern, and for a moment he feels a rush of gratitude that he has this man to call a friend.

“Look, Viktor, I think you may be thinking on this too hard and too often. What has happened is in the past, and it’s only now that should concern you. The boy has re-entered your life--which by the way is some sort of heavenly fortune, well done-- and that is precisely where you need to begin. Know him for what he is now, not for what he was then. Besides,” he adds with a wink, “confidence comes easy with a tankard in hand. It’s no wonder why he’s so shy now.”

Viktor sighs again, rather theatrically, and leans into the other man. Christophe puts an arm around him, patting him gently. “Oh, _Christophe_ ,” he says mournfully, “What am I to do?”

“What exactly do you know about him?”

Viktor blinks. He considers this. He blinks again.

“I think that’s where you ought to start.” Christophe can barely conceal his laughter. “Perhaps you should know him better before you whisk him away on horseback, riding into the sunrise.”

“Sunset,” Viktor corrects him miserably.

\----------

By the time Viktor has returned to his chambers, he finds that Yuuri has just heated the last of the buckets of water, and is pouring them into the nearly filled tub.

“Excellent!” He strides over to him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Well done, Yuuri.”

The boy smiles sheepishly at him. “Thank you, Ser.” There’s a pause, and then he reddens a bit and turns to leave. “W-well, I’ll leave you to your bath.”

“It isn’t _my_ bath,” Viktor says sweetly, “it’s _yours_.”

Yuuri gapes at him. Viktor wonders if this has become his default expression.

“ _My_ bath?”

“Yes. Your hair is filthy. And you smell. Come on, then, hurry before the water cools. Yes, off with these. And _those_. Into the tub, that’s it.”

Yuuri is lowering himself into the tub now, his face a bright red that Viktor takes a moment to admire before drawing up a stool and placing it by the tub. He procures a comb from within his pockets and gestures for Yuuri to lean back.

“Your hair,” he begins, “is quite awful.” He grabs up a soft bath sponge, soaks it, and squeezes the water out of it above the boy, letting it run down his head. As Yuuri scrubs himself with a scented bit of soap, Viktor combs his hair, frowning. “No squire of mine is going to go about with hair like yours. I’ll have it cleaned and combed and cut straight away.”

“I rather like the length,” Yuuri says quietly, and Viktor melts. The boy’s hair is just long enough to tie up with a leather thong, and he supposes that this would be an acceptable look for him.

“Alright, then. But I’ll have the ends trimmed. You look like a shaggy dog.”

Yuuri makes a sound that’s almost a laugh, and Viktor pauses in his combing to lean forward and lay his chin on the boy’s shoulder. Yuuri freezes at once.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says softly, “tell me more about yourself.”

The boy is at a loss for words, so Viktor continues. “I want to know you better, Yuuri. What of your House, of your lands? Do you visit the city often? Is there someone you’ve got your eye on? What sort of foods do you like, so that I may have them prepared for you?” He can tell by the tensing of his shoulders that Yuuri is overwhelmed by the barrage of questions, so he stops himself.

He buries his face closer so that his lips are nearly against his ear. He feels Yuuri shiver deliciously, and fights not to nip at him.

“Yuuri,” he whispers, “I think we ought to get to know each other _very_ intimately.”

He hears the water splash before he even registers that Yuuri’s shoulder has slipped from under his head, because the boy has turned around to face him. His eyes are burning with a sudden determination.

“Ser,” he says, “come into the bath with me.”

Viktor could not be more shocked even if every wall in the castle had spontaneously collapsed. He gapes at him, and wonders if they ought to keep track of who gapes the most often.

“I-er,” he fumbles, “the- the bath? With you? Right now?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says firmly.

Viktor doesn’t need to be told again, and he’s soon stripped and submerged, closing his eyes and cherishing the warmth of the water. He suddenly remembers that there is a very much naked boy that he is very much in love with sitting across from him, staring at him intently. Viktor stares back.

“My House.” Yuuri begins, “House Katsuki is currently under the rule of my Lord uncle. I can’t recall much of him, as I was sent to the King’s castle to be taken in as a page, as many nieces, nephews, and second or third borns of Lords and Ladies are. It was to be a great honor to serve the King, and to one day become a solider, or a knight, or a respectable noble. My father,” he continues softly, “had passed some time ago, of an illness. My mother accompanied me to the castle, and was taken in as a noblewoman, beloved by all who knew her.”

Viktor thinks he vaguely recalls such a woman, but hasn’t much time to reflect on that before Yuuri continues, even more softly. “She passed of an old age, and I was told that she was peaceful in her final moments.” He pauses here, and Viktor takes a moment to admire his strength. His voice has not faltered once, and he seems as though his nerves are made of steel.

“Ser Celestino was a very good friend to both my father and mother, and thus I was placed into his care. He called it fate, as his squire had fallen in battle some time ago, and he had not taken on a new one since. Rather than being appointed one at the Prince’s nameday tourney, he took me on as his squire. As far as I know, my Lord uncle has no heir, as his son and daughter had both fallen in battle as well. With my father being the second-eldest of his siblings, and with me as my father’s first and only child, I pose a threat to his Lordship. And thus I could not go back. I cannot go back. And so I am here.”

The boy is silent now, and his eyes have not once left Viktor’s. Viktor feels mesmerized, frozen in place by their dark heat. Yuuri finally breaks his gaze, looking back down at the water, and Viktor sees that his face is reddening.

“I-I’m sorry, Ser, I don’t know what came over me, I only wanted you to know more-”

Viktor has closed the gap between them, burying his face into the crook of Yuuri’s neck, his arms wrapped around the boy’s midsection. He wonders if Yuuri might die on the spot, as his pulse is quickening at an alarming rate.

“Thank you, Yuuri,” he murmurs into the boy’s soft skin. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

Viktor feels a hand stroke his hair, and wonders if he himself may die on the spot, because Yuuri is running his fingers through his hair, and Yuuri’s head is leaning against his, and Yuuri has shifted so that their bodies fit together more comfortably, and to his great shock, Yuuri turns his head to speak softly into his ear. Viktor shivers.

“I used to visit the city every now and then. I liked to ride through the streets, and I liked to watch the bustle of the crowds, to be swept up into them. I’d stop to buy bread, or sweets, or trinkets at the markets. I knew I could find better at the castle, but to roam outside, to feel my nerves and doubts melt away, to see all but be seen by none, invisible and free and unafraid... I think it was worth it.” He sighs. “But that was as a squire. As the son of a noble. That was when I had a status that would ensure that I was respected and safe outside the castle walls. Without that status, I don’t... I don’t know if I would have...”

He buries his face into Viktor’s neck now, his arms about his shoulders. “I used to thank the gods that I had been spared that. But now I thank you.”

Viktor will most certainly die at this point. He has a feeling that this must be what it’s like to be Yuuri--to receive so much sudden affection that it’s overwhelming. This boy is too good, too pure. I don’t deserve him, Viktor realizes suddenly. He is much more fortunate than he had thought.

This doesn’t make him any less of a prick, and he brushes his lips against Yuuri’s ear once more, eliciting another shudder that travels down the length of the boy’s body.

“You haven’t answered my other question.”

“Er. Ser? Ah, w-well, as for foods, I’m very fond of pork-”

“No,” Viktor butts in sweetly, “the other one.”

Yuuri pauses to think on this, then tenses suddenly.

“I-I, er, Ser, I... um, Ser, I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, I...” he trails off nervously.

“It’s very simple,” Viktor says, so very innocently, “has anybody caught your eye? A young maid, perhaps? One of the cooks? A groom from the stables? Is there anybody you might call your own?”

The heat rising from the boy’s body tells Viktor that he must be flushed a record-breaking shade of red. He feels him shift underneath him, and Viktor is now very, very, _very_ aware of how closely their bodies are pressed together.

“Hmm?” he purrs, letting his lips brush against Yuuri’s neck now, and the boy gasps in such a way that nearly sends Viktor into a frenzy.

“Ser,” Yuuri says in a strained whisper, “I think the water has gotten rather cold.”

Indeed it has, and Viktor reluctantly pries himself off of him. As he had suspected, the redness of the boy's cheeks is quite a sight to behold.

“Come on, then,” Viktor says with a grin, stepping out of the tub and offering him a hand, “It’s time we both retire for the night. Your training begins tomorrow.”

Yuuri takes his hand, and Viktor counts his blessings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for killing off Yuuri's parents LMAO


	9. Gay Knights 9: Ya Nasty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of things happen.

Viktor remains awake a little while longer before retiring. He sits at his desk, penning a few letters to various Lords and Ladies concerning upcoming affairs. He’s been writing for nearly an hour now when he suddenly hears a noise beyond the scratching of his quill. He pauses, listening. There’s the noise again. A groan, he thinks. Pause. A groan. He stands, listening intently, and realizes that they seem to be coming from the side room, the squire’s room.

Yuuri? he thinks, making his way carefully toward the door. He raises a hand to knock when he hears the noise again, and freezes. A moan. The same moan he’s heard over and over in his head, ever since...

He takes a steadying breath and gently nudges the door open.

The oil lamps have gone out, but the moon is full and bright. Its light falls upon the sheer curtains of the bed, the curtains that still stir in the light breeze from the open window.

“Viktor...”

His heart stops. He edges forward, and as he hears another moan he draws back the curtains as quietly as he can.

Yuuri lies there on the bed, his blanketing kicked off of him, wearing nothing but a shirt that has been unlaced and fallen open. He’s sweating, panting, moaning, and Viktor hears his name on the boy’s lips again. His face is the most alluring shade of red Viktor has ever seen it, and the flush has traveled down his body, down...

“Viktor,” Yuuri moans again, and he’s stroking himself, gasping and panting, and he keeps moaning that same moan, the one that has been driving Viktor _mad_ for the past several months. His eyes roam over Yuuri’s body hungrily, fighting to contain himself, and suddenly he realizes that the boy is looking at him now; his eyes are open and he’s looking directly at him. His beautiful brown eyes are clouded with sleep and... lust? Something sultry, something so seductive that it makes Viktor weak in the knees.

“Ser?” he says softly, and Viktor stammers out a reply.

“Y-yes, Yuuri, it’s me, it’s-”

“Ser,” he moans, squirming and quivering. “Please, Ser. Please?”

Viktor feels very close to fainting. “Please, what?”

Yuuri raises his hips in answer, his eyes never leaving Viktor’s as he continues to stroke himself, slowly.

“Please.” Desperate and breathless.

Viktor falls upon him at once, grabbing him and jerking him towards himself. His lips meet Yuuri’s, and he devours his kisses with a hunger he’s never known before. Yuuri is running his hands through his hair, and Viktor kisses his neck, his throat, his collar, and he pauses to thumb and pull and suck and bite at his nipples, and the boy gasps louder, and Viktor’s hands are grabbing, grabbing everywhere, his waist, his hips, his thighs, and he parts them now, one hand pinning Yuuri’s hands together, the other fumbling to loosen the laces of his own breeches. 

His cock throbs as he grinds it against Yuuri’s own, and the boy cries out so sweetly that Viktor feels like weeping. He grinds down onto him, again and again, relishing the sound, and Yuuri is moaning, begging him, please, Ser, I want you inside of me Ser, _please Ser please,_ and Viktor finds himself suddenly in possession of a small vial of oil, and he doesn’t question it because Yuuri is squirming so deliciously and desperately beneath him, and he wants nothing more than to pound him into the bedding, to hear that moan, _that moan_ , over and over again.

His fingers coated, his slips one inside him, and Yuuri gasps and bucks, but Viktor grabs one hip firmly, squeezing him, wanting to _break_ him, and he slips another finger, and a third.

“Ser,” Yuuri cries out, “Ser, _please_!”

Viktor coats himself, and when he slides so smoothly into the boy he feels as though he may melt, and he’s tight, so tight and so deliciously hot, so _tight_ around him and Yuuri is writhing, begging, nearly sobbing, and Viktor moves inside of him, and the first thrust sets Yuuri crying out, “ _Viktor!_ ”

Viktor lifts the boy’s legs over his shoulders, gripping his waist hard, so hard that he can feel the skin bruising beneath his fingers, and Yuuri is screaming, screaming in a way that nearly sends him over the edge.

Viktor mounts him and rides him til sunrise.

\----------

Viktor wakes suddenly, gasping and drenched in sweat. He’s panting heavily, his cock in hand, a hot and thick wetness dripping from between his fingers.

He groans and rises to stumble towards the wash basin.

Sharing his chambers with Yuuri is going to be a lot more difficult than he had thought.

==========

Yuuri stretches as he rises from bed, feeling content and well-rested. As he enters Ser Viktor’s chambers, he sees that the knight is already dressed for training, and preparing his armor.

“Good morning, Ser!”

Viktor jumps a bit, startled, and when he turns to look at him, Yuuri is surprised to see him slightly flustered.

The knight seems to recover quickly, and he grins at him. “Good morning, Yuuri. Come, assist me with my armor. You remember how to do that, I hope?”

“Yes, Ser!” It was part of a squire’s duty to do so for his knight, and luckily Viktor is dressed lightly, with just enough padding and armor needed for training. Yuuri finds it odd the way the knight sometimes stiffens at his touch, or looks away, but he passes it off as another one of Ser Viktor’s eccentricities. The both of them are ready now, but as they turn for the doors Yuuri stops suddenly, as he’s just remembered something.

“Ser, last night, as I went to fetch water... there were guards, and I had to play the servant, as I knew they’d never believe I was your squire. How can I prove that I’m your squire?”

He sees the knight pause to consider this, and after some time he says, “Well, squires of the Royal Guard are giving a token of their status. A token to match their knights’. This token is immediately known by the guards, and can essentially grant you access to most parts of the castle.” He heads towards his desk, rummaging through the various drawers below, and the shelves above. “Ser Georgi and his squire Otabek share a matching bronze brooch fixed with jade. Ser Christophe and his squire Masumi each wear a silver chain about their necks, both with a pendant of sapphire.”

Yuuri thinks he might have seen such accessories, but he had never guessed at their meaning. Viktor seems to find what he has been looking for, and draws a small and beautifully carved wooden box out from one of the drawers.

“A gift from the King himself,” he says as he opens it. “They were meant to be my token. Unused, you see,” he adds with a sly grin.

Two gold rings rest upon a small cushion within the box. They’re simple, but they glint in the sunlight that passes through the windows. So bright, Yuuri thinks, his breath catching in his throat.

Viktor lays the box upon his desk and, taking Yuuri’s right hand, slips one of the rings onto his fourth finger. “There,” he says, beaming at him, “now you are officially my squire.” He reaches for the remaining ring to place onto his own finger, but Yuuri beats him to it.

Yuuri struggles to keep himself from trembling now as he reaches forward to grab the knight’s right hand. Viktor lets him, and Yuuri slips the ring onto his fourth finger. He looks up at Viktor nervously, and sees that his expression is unreadable, nearly blank. Yuuri looks back down at the ring, then up again at Viktor.

“There,” he says quietly, his voice wavering slightly, “now you are officially my knight.”

Ser Viktor’s face remains blank as he stares down at the hand that Yuuri is still holding.

He finally speaks, and his voice is so gentle that Yuuri’s heart soars.

“Yes. Now I am your knight.”

==========

He leads the boy down the corridors, but he feels as though his body is moving on its own, as his mind is somewhere else, somewhere far away.

He glances down at his hand. At his ring. He feels something, but there isn’t any time to dwell on it, because Yuuri has stopped dead in his tracks, a look a fear on his face.

“Yuuri?”

“S-s-ser, isn’t this--I-I mean, this,” he’s shaking now, “are we-”

“Headed towards the Royal training ground? Yes,” he smiles sweetly at his horror-stricken face. “From this point forward, both you and the Prince will train under my guidance. Together.” he adds helpfully.

==========

 _The Prince_ , Yuuri's mind repeats frantically, the Prince, I’m to _train with the Prince_.

He recalls flashing green eyes, a sneer, a sentence that may have ruined his life. A Prince with a plot, he remembers suddenly, and he’s trembling near to fainting as he and Ser Viktor finally reach the doors.

They’re thrown open to reveal a lovely outdoor area, with lush grass that surrounds the stone-laid training ground, and creeping vines that make their way up the great enclosing walls. A garden of sorts, though the vast area at its center was littered here and there with training equipment.

To Yuuri’s absolute horror, the Prince is already there. Yuuri can see his entire life flashing before his eyes as the Prince turns, and their eyes lock, and time stands still, and Yuuri wonders if this is how it feels to die.

“Good morning, everyone!” Viktor says, chipper and beaming, striding onto the grounds. “Let’s begin with the basic-”

“ _What_ ,” a hiss so low and venomous that Yuuri might have mistake it for a snake’s, “ _is HE doing here?”_

“Oh?” says Viktor lightly, “Oh, yes. This is my squire, Yuuri--as you may remember. He’s now your new sparing partner. You are both to train under my guidance. Together,” he adds helpfully.

Yura looks as though he might explode, and Yuuri wants to cast about wildly for cover but does his best to stand his ground.

“YOUR _SQUIRE_?”

“Yes.”

“I. Will. Not. Allow. This,” The Prince says between gritted teeth.

“Oh, I don’t believe it’s within your jurisdiction to allow anything concerning this matter.” Viktor smiles kindly at the Prince, who is now gaping at him. “As your official instructor, you will answer to me, and only me. And,” he adds, before Yura can snarl out a response, “I have discovered that it is stated nowhere that a High Commander cannot train the Prince and take on a squire at the same time. So!” He claps his hands together, “I trust no introductions are needed. Let’s begin!”

The Prince is glaring daggers at Yuuri, making him wonder if he might actually be stabbed to death today. As Ser Viktor gathers together their equipment, Yura speaks to Yuuri directly for the first time in several months.

“I hate you.”

Yuuri is so caught off guard that he nearly snorts with laughter, and this is a grave mistake, as the Prince’s eyes widen and his nostrils flare. “Do NOT mock me! I’ll have you banned from-”

“Now, now!” Viktor steps forward to toss them their training equipment. A sword for the Prince, and a shield for Yuuri. Yura hefts the sword and smiles at Yuuri, his eyes glinting wickedly. Yuuri glances about the garden and decides that this would be quite a nice place to be buried.

==========

“Again.”

The two give him an exasperated look in unison, then take their places once more. Viktor watches as the Prince charges at Yuuri, and Yuuri brings his shield up quickly. The Prince’s sword glances off of it, and as Yuuri relaxes his stance, Yura swings round, and his sword catches the boy’s side.

Viktor frowns at them. 

“Yuuri,” he calls out. The boy is rubbing his side and wincing. “Do not ever let down your guard. The blow of a sword or an axe or a lance might come from any direction.” Yuuri grimaces and nods, trying to straighten up again.

“Yura,” he says, before the boy can begin gloating, “well done. However, your charge was risky, and more often than not, a move like that might leave you directly on the end of someone’s sword. Practice more caution and patience.” The Prince huffs and turns back towards Yuuri, his sword raised once more.

“Again.”

==========

Yuuri makes his way to the banquet hall in a haze of pain, wincing with nearly every step. He can feel the bruises forming beneath his clothing, and is in no rush to disrobe later that day and see them for himself. Viktor’s training had been hard, far harder than any training Ser Celestino or Phichit had put him through. The knight had dismissed him and the Prince, ending their session for the day. The Prince had sent one last withering glare his way before making off to his chambers.

“Well done, Yuuri. Now go eat. I’ll meet you there later.” Viktor had clapped a hand on his shoulder, smiling at him, and Yuuri had felt the sudden urge to do anything within his power to hear the knight’s praise again.

As he enters the halls, he’s struck with the realization that for the first time in months, he’s entering as a squire. Not a servant. There is no serving tray in his hands. He is not in flour and soot stained garb. His head is held high, and his eyes have not once cast themselves down to the floor.

He makes his way towards the squire’s section of tables, his feet taking him down a familiar path he had not tread since the day he had lost everything. One of the squires takes notice of him, and the rest turn their heads, and for a fraction of a section Yuuri balks at the thought of them viewing him as an outsider.

The entire section breaks out in cheers, clapping and hooting, and the squire nearest to him grabs him and throws an arm about him.

“Welcome back, my friend!” Phichit cries, and the rest echo his words.

“Yuuri! You’re back!”

“Nice to finally meet you!”

“Where have you been, Yuuri?”

“We’ve missed you!”

Yuuri feels his vision blur, and he realizes that he’s crying, and Phichit’s arm around him tightens, pulling him closer.

“You’re back, my friend. Just as I knew you would be.”

Yuuri has never been more grateful in his life to have a friend like Phichit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this is the first smut scene I've ever written LOL


	10. Gay Knights 10: A Humorous Caption Is Placed Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I can't take credit for this fic because it honestly just writes itself. I recall Kubo-sensei saying that her characters have a life of their own, and she just sort of lets them do their thing, and I really feel like that whenever I write. 
> 
> Sorry this is GAY AS FUCK SO ANYWAYS...

The other squires ply him with food and drink, telling him that he’s grown too skinny, and wow, isn’t your hair so much longer now, and oh! what’s that on your hand, sir?

Yuuri realizes that all eyes are on him, or more specifically the gold ring he's wearing. He notices one particular set of eyes, because they’re gleaming with a sort of mischievous satisfaction.

“An excellent question. What _is_ it, Squire Phichit?”

The boy's smile matches his eyes. “Who, me?”

“Yes.” Yuuri tries to scowl at him and fails, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “This was your doing, wasn’t it?” 

Phichit feigns innocence so perfectly that Yuuri nearly believes it. “What _ever_ do you mean, my friend?”

“Very convenient, Ser Viktor just so happening to come across the room in which I just so happened to be alone.”

“My,” the other boy seems shocked, “how strange, indeed!”

Yuuri gives him a long and level look, and Phichit drops all pretense with a small shrug.

“Yes, alright. It was my idea. When I told Ser Celestino, he was more than eager to help. And the little one, the squeaking one, that page-”

“Minami?” Yuuri is surprised.

“Yes! That one. Our plan was simple. Minami would deliver a message to Ser Vikor that the Prince required a favor of him. A favor that would lead him to the armory. Ser Celestino was to ask for the knight’s help, claiming that there may have been thievery afoot, and would ask of him to check rooms near the armory. And that would lead him to an empty storeroom. Where you were. Waiting for me.” He smiles sweetly at him. “And there it is, and here you are!”

“And I suppose I should thank you? Pay tribute to the all-knowing ever-scheming Lord Phichit?” Yuuri can’t even pretend to be upset, as Phichit’s scheming had led him towards a dream that he had never thought would come true.

“Oh, a small offering is sufficient,” he says modestly.

The other squires, all the while glancing back and forth between the two, take this opportunity to pounce on Yuuri all at once.

“So it’s true, then?” Squire Otabek asks, looking as surprised as one so stoic can manage.

“You are Ser Viktor’s squire?” With an eyebrow raised, Squire Seung-gil seems skeptical. 

“Are you really?" A new squire, Emil, looks ecstatic. "I hear he's never had a squire, this is such rare news!”

A smug looking squire leans towards him. His name, Yuuri vaguely recalls, is Jean. “Well, aren’t we so fortunate? And what is that you wear, a token of his favor?”

“Oh,” Squire Masumi says softly, “yes, that is the token of one of the Royal Guard.” He indicates his own chain, and nods towards Squire Otabek, who has his brooch fastened to his doublet. “Ser Christophe has told me of it, though no one has ever seen the knight wear it.”

“Wow,” breathes a small squire that Yuuri remembers as Guang-Hong, “you’re the first squire ever to receive Ser Viktor’s token!”

“It looks rather like a betrothal band,” Phichit muses, and the squires round on Yuuri again, their excitement palpable and overwhelming.

“Is it? Is it _really_?”

“Are you to be wed?”

“Is Ser Viktor truly your betrothed?”

Yuuri thinks he may faint, and he feels his face redden hotly. This increases their excitement tenfold.

Ser Viktor? _Betrothed?_ Yuuri’s head is spinning, and his vision wavers. What do they mean, that he and Viktor are to be wed? _Wed?_

“N-no,” he stammers, “it isn’t- it truly is just his token, just a mark that I am his squire, and he is my knight. A token of our unbreakable bond.”

The squires all exchange glances.

“Sounds like a betrothal to me,” Jean drawls, and the rest are shouting wildly again, and Yuuri longs for the sweet release of death.

==========

Viktor enters the hall at last, weary and starving. He falls heavily upon the bench beside his fellow knights, and is torn between eating the bread before him or just falling flat on it and passing out. He almost doesn’t register the shouting from the far end of the hall until he hears Ser Georgi laugh.

“Well, hasn’t Yuuri received quite the dramatic welcome!”

Viktor glances down the table to where Yuuri is seated, and sees the squires surrounding him like an excitable flock of birds, flapping incessantly at him. Yuuri looks as though he would very much like to die, and Viktor smiles at this. He's happy to see Yuuri among his peers once more.

“Hm,” he hears Ser Christophe hum. When he turns to him, he sees the man rubbing his chin thoughtfully, and his eyes are on the gold ring on Viktor’s finger. “Your token? At last?”

“Yes,” says Viktor proudly, displaying it to the others, “I’m finally making use of it.”

“Ah,” Christophe continues, still sounding thoughtful, “so, when are you to be wed?”

Viktor freezes. The other knights freeze as well, though Viktor can feel them tensing, ready to pounce.

“I- _what?_ ”

“That,” the other knight says, pointing to the ring, “looks almost _exactly_ like a betrothal ring. Doesn’t it?” he asks the others, and Viktor has approximately half a second to speak before the attack.

“No, you _know_ that-”

“Are you really _betrothed_ to your own squire?”

“Is that allowed? I feel as though it isn’t.”

“Will you be wed this upcoming autumn? The weather would be quite lovely for an outdoor ceremony."

"Perhaps during the Festival? Can you _imagine?_ ”

"Oh, that would be so very _scandalous-"_

“There is to be no wedding,” Viktor says firmly. He rounds on Christophe. “Ser, you know for a fact that this is my token as bestowed upon me by the King, as was yours and Ser Georgi’s for you and your own squires. It is a mark of the bond between knight and squire. Nothing more.”

But his heart is racing, and he feels the heat rise in his cheeks, and this doesn’t quell the others’ excitement one bit.

Ser Sara leans forward eagerly. “Well, who was the first to ask? Did you place it upon him first?”

“Well, yes,” Viktor says impatiently, “and then he placed the other upon m-”

The table has erupted into hoots and teasing jeers.

“ _He_ placed it upon _you?_ ”

“Oh, how romantic!”

Viktor joins Yuuri in his quest for a swift and painless death. 

\----------

Back in their chambers, the two of them can hardly look at one another without becoming flustered, and it’s beginning to make things awkward. Yuuri retires to his room, bidding him a terse and nervous good night. Viktor sits at his desk, writing away, but his thoughts are elsewhere. It's obvious, his attraction to and love of the boy, isn't it? And he's been making moves towards him since the beginning, some of them _outrageously_ shameless, so why did the one teasing mention of a wedding set him blushing like a maiden?

He drops his quill and places his face in his hands, his elbows resting upon the desk.

“You’re a goddamned fool, Viktor Nikiforov.”

==========

Yuuri is restless, trying and failing to sleep. He had retired early, but only because he had not been able to remain in the same room as Viktor without blushing madly. He’s exhausted, but his mind is wide awake. He stares up at the canopy of his bed, unable to close his eyes and drift off. 

‘Betrothed.’

He turns over, curling up. What does that mean? Why would... how could he even... would he really? His heart races as he recalls all the moments Ser Viktor had been too close, too friendly, his caresses, the feel of his thumb brushing his lips, his breath against his ear, his neck, and he almost recalls something else, something darkly thrilling, something wicked, but he cannot remember, and he falls asleep with the taste of Viktor’s skin on his lips.

His dreams are fragmented and confusing; the feel of another body pressing against him, something so sensual, so slow and soft, and gripping, hands, firm hands, gripping him and grabbing his thighs, and Yuuri shivers, and he feels his heat rising, and his hips along with it, and gripping, grabbing, soft hair that runs between his fingers, soft lips that press against his ear, his throat, then finally upon his own, and he parts them for something hot, something so hot and wet, and he feels it now, and he feels it everywhere, hot and wet and teasing, and there’s something hard, something hot and slick and so hard and he gasps, he feels parted and filled, aching and pulsing, and he arcs his back and stares up into something blue, something so deep and beautifully blue and _oh please_ he cries out as he moves, as _they_ move, and his eyes are dazzled by the stars, his body licked by flames, and a familiar scent, of skin and sweat and something deeper, darker, and his screams are swallowed into something blue, so blue.

 _His blue eyes._  

Yuuri awakes with a start and what he prays is a muffled moan, and panting, he withdraws his hand to find it coated in something thick and dripping. He heads for his wash basin, his legs trembling and his heart racing.

\----------

His next training session is a few days later, and although he and Viktor have brought themselves to actually look one another in the eyes again, Viktor has told him to go on ahead to the training grounds without him, promising to arrive later after taking care of a few important tasks. Yuuri hopes that those important tasks don’t involve avoiding him.

He’s nearly at the doors leading to the garden when his mind tears from Viktor long enough to realize that he’s about to enter the training grounds with the Prince there, the two of them alone, and Yuuri supposes that if there's any apt time for him to die, it might as well be now.

Yura immediately glares at him the second he sees him.

“Where is Ser Viktor.” He phrases it as a statement rather than a question.

“He, er, says he’ll be arriving later.”

Yura scowls at him. “Then what are we to do in the meantime?”

Yuuri blinks. He had not been given any instructions.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

There’s a long and awkward silence that stretches out into eternity, and Yuuri is internally screaming, and Yura is going back and forth between glaring at him and pretending he doesn’t exist.

Yuuri finally decides to sit on one of the large stones near the walls, not knowing what else to do. After a long pause, Prince Yura sits as well, although he finds the stone the furthest from Yuuri. There’s another long silence.

“Did you really plot to keep me away from Ser Viktor?” Yuuri blurts out. He wonders if he has gone mad, and perhaps it was the infinite silence that had driven him to insanity, for nothing else could have compelled him to ask something so stupid.

Yura is silent. Yuuri doesn’t know if this is better or worse than the screaming.

“Yes,” the Prince says flatly.

Pause.

“Well, why?”

Another pause, longer.

“As High Commander, it was Ser Viktor’s duty to guide me through my real training on my sixteenth nameday, for that was the day I became a man.”

Yuuri is silent and frozen. This is the first time the Prince has ever spoken to him without insulting him or glaring at him. The Prince’s gaze is fixed on the far wall, his voice flat and distant.

“But he wanted _you,_ and I would not allow him to abandon me in favor of a fool of a squire.”

There it is.

“I wanted to be rid of you immediately. I nearly succeeded, and had it not been for Ser Viktor’s pathetic groveling on your behalf, you would have been long gone and out of my way for good.”

Pathetic groveling? Yuuri is surprised to hear it phrased that way. Viktor had made it sound more noble, more chivalrous.

“Keeping you on as a servant,” Yura continues, “would mean that you no longer posed a threat to my claim on Ser Viktor. But I saw his obsession with you, and I knew I had to do everything within my power to ensure the two of you never crossed paths. I had the stewards assign you new tasks, odd tasks, inconsistent tasks, so that you were never in one spot for too long.” 

He pauses again, scowling. “But despite this, he would not give up his search for you, and in a rage I refused his services as my instructor in favor of a lesser one. As the months went by, I saw his resolve falter, then die out, and at that point is when I finally allowed him to train me.”

Here he smirks, and finally turns to look at Yuuri. Yuuri feels pinned to the spot.

“I saw at once his reluctance the very first day, although he fought not to show it. I saw right through him. He was training me, but he was thinking of _you_. And so I decided that I would give you to him. But not in the way that he wanted."

His smirk now curves into a wicked grin. “I allowed you to dangle before him, only to snatch you away when he was close. I wanted to drive him mad. I wanted him to become frustrated, to grow angry at your avoidance of him. He once believed you lost and helpless, but now he would believe that you purposely hid from him, that you fled from him. I wanted him to resent your presence. I wanted him to give up, not out of hopelessness, but out of spite, out of hatred for you. Only then would you truly no longer be an obstacle in my way.”

There’s a long pause. A very long pause. Tension lay thick in the air, near palpable, and Yura smirks, and Yuuri stares.

“Well,” Yuuri says finally, “that was rather childish of you, wasn’t it?”

Yura looks stricken, his face white, eyes wide with shock.

“And it sort of backfired, didn’t it?” Yuuri continues, although the voice that usually tells him to stop speaking is screaming at him for being an idiot. He ignores it. “I am his squire, and he doesn’t hate me, far from it, really. And now here we both are. Being trained by him. Together,” he adds, helpfully.

He thinks the Prince may have shut down, because he continues to gape at him, and Yuuri secretly welcomes him to the Gape Guild, currently comprised of himself and Ser Viktor.

Finally the Prince speaks, and his voice is shaking with fury.

“ _You_ ,” he hisses, “you DARE to-”

The doors are thrown open and Ser Viktor strides in, and the two boys are momentarily distracted, as Viktor has brought along somebody with him.

A Lady. Yuuri thinks she looks a bit familiar, but then again everyone in the castle looks familiar to him by now.

“Prince Yura. Squire Yuuri. I introduce to you Lady Minako, our Dance Instructor to the Ladies of the Court. She is here to assist in your training.”

Yuuri and Yura gape as they have never gaped before.


	11. Gay Knights 11: Every Kiss Begins With Gay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> suddenly a PLOT POINT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one goes 0-100 real quick gomen but I had a lot of fun with this idea

The Harvest Festival is a festival marking the very first day of autumn. It begins the day the Harvest Moon rises, red as blood, large and full and lustrous, and it lasts the length of a week. It’s a festival of extravagance and entertainment--a ball or banquet each night, glorious feasts, the finest wine and mead from both the castle’s cellars and from travelers far and wide that come bearing their offerings to the King and Queen. 

Troupes of actors, of singers, of musicians, of fools, of all sorts provide their services to the castle, and their performances are magnificent and wild, sending spectators into roaring frenzies. 

It is also a festival of combat, a festival of sacrificial bloodshed--symbolic, of course. Large mock-melees are held, comprised of soldiers, squires, and whosoever felt the courage to join. Fantastic duels are performed, sword dances, fire dances, mummer’s battles; costumed beasts falling before the hero’s mighty sword.

It is a festival of gluttony, of wrath, of lust, and the air is thick with it, with the delicious sexual tension, the sensuality that shivers throughout the night. As spring marks the beginning of new life, of innocent courtship, autumn marks the reaping, the culmination of the harvest--the crops ripe, ready to be devoured.

Scandalous gowns, far too much revealed, the unlacing of shirts, a bare chest, hose far too tight, breeches undone, beautifully made tunics with nothing worn beneath. Exotic musicians and dancers arrive, bringing with them spices, sinuous twisting, and foreign instruments played just so, just in such a way that sets ablaze the passion that had once lain dormant.  

The Harvest Festival is a festival of elegant debauchery, and precisely two months before it, a Prince and a squire are staring in shock at a knight and a Lady.

Viktor is absolutely beaming, introducing the Lady with a flourish. Lady Minako instructs young noblewomen and Ladies of the Court in the art of dancing, and he has brought her here for a reason. 

“She is,” Yuuri asks hesitantly, “to assist us?”

“What is the meaning of this, Ser?” Yura has recovered from his shock and is scowling, as per usual.

“You’ll see,” Viktor says cheerfully.

The boys exchange glances. Suddenly, Yuuri jerks his attention back towards them.

“L-lady Minako,” he stammers, bowing respectfully, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, my Lady.”

Viktor isn’t sure whether to snort or tear up with pride. Yura gives the boy a sidelong glare, then inclines his head slightly to the Lady, but in a way that suggests that _she_ should be bowing to _him_.

And she does so, with a graceful curtsy, and the boys seem to admire her sophisticated delicacy. But then she opens her mouth.

“Well. Let’s get on with it!” She strides forward towards them, looking them up and down as though they were cattle. “Hmm...”

The boys exchange another glance, squirming under her hard and inspecting stare. Viktor is enjoying this very much.

Lady Minako turns back to face him. “And you say they are as graceless as bulls, Ser?”

The boys nearly reel at this, Yuuri looking a bit guilty and Yura bristling with indignation.

 _“What?”_ he hisses, and Viktor is so reminded of an angry kitten that he has to muffle his laughter.

“Yes,” he chokes out, “yes, they’re absolutely terrible.”

Minako looks thrilled, and whirls back to them.

“Excellent! We’ve much work to do!”

==========

Yuuri trips and falls on his arse for what seems like the hundredth time, and he scrambles to his feet again, rubbing what is most certainly going to be an enormous bruise tomorrow.

“Awful!” Lady Minako says cheerfully, and Yuuri begins to wonder if she and Ser Viktor are related. “You’ve no balance, it’s no wonder that you fail at your swings.”

Yuuri has been stretching, bending, twisting, and spinning for what must have been an hour now. Lady Minako is the castle’s dance instructor, and Ser Viktor has brought her to training this morning to assist them.

“You’re stiff, you’re graceless, you have very little balance,” the knight had told him. “To fight you must be agile, swift, flexible. This gives you a massive advantage over your opponent. Even clad in armor, footing is important, and one misstep could end in your death.”

This had made Yuuri very nervous. “S-ser, but I’ve no idea how to dance.”

Viktor had given him a very strange look, then had shooed him back towards the Lady.

Yuuri stumbles out of a spin once more, and hears a loud and derisive snort from the other side of the garden.

The Prince, who was having none of it and had refused to do something so _foolish_ at first, is now standing perfectly, his leg brought up behind him, and his arm arched back to hold his foot. Lady Minako looks pleased.

“Yes, well done, my Prince!”

Yura gives Yuuri a gloating look as the Lady praises him. Panting and aching, Yuuri has no idea how he’s going to survive these dance lessons.

When Viktor and Lady Minako dismiss them, the knight looks as though he’s going to burst with excitement.

“I’ve saved this bit for last,” he says, beaming once more. “Your dance lessons are to assist you in battle, but they will also assist you this autumn.”

The boys stare.

“The two of you are to join the Harvest Festival’s combat rounds. The two of you are to sword dance before the entire kingdom!”

The boys pale.

==========

“The festival? Did you _really_?”

Viktor grins, brimming with happiness, as he and Ser Celestino make their way down the corridors to the armory where the rest of the knights are gathered, preparing for their own training regimen. 

“Yes! Won’t it be exciting? They’ll be perfect for it. They’ve quite the interesting dynamic, those two. I’ve been thinking of themes for them, something contrasting between them both, but also something unfamiliar, so that they’re brought out of their comfort zones.”

“Well,” Ser Celestino chuckles, “you won’t have much of a hard time coming up with a theme for Yuuri. The boy’s comfort zone doesn’t seem to exist, the poor lad.”

Viktor gives him a thoughtful look, and continues to think on this throughout training.

==========

“The _festival?!”_

Yuuri nearly falls off of the bench as the other squires jump at him.

“Yes,” he says nervously. “The Prince and I are to dance. The sword dance, I mean.”

“The Prince is to dance?” Squire Otabek says softly, and Yuuri notices an odd expression on his face. He sees his eyes wander to the raised dais at the end of the banquet hall, where the Prince is seated with the King and Queen.

“Yes,” Yuuri says again, and sighs. “This is awful. I’ve no idea how to dance. I’m failing terribly during training. Lady Minako says I have no grace.”

Some of the squires whistle, exchanging smirks. 

“Oh, the Lady Minako? My, my...”

Yuuri fidgets anxiously. “Y-yes, she’s very, er-”

“What I wouldn’t give to spend a ‘training session’ with her alone,” says Jean, and his smirk is the biggest of all. The other squires hoot and nudge Yuuri.

“I-I’m sorry, um, what do you mean? You’d like to dance as well?”

The table erupts with laughter, and Phichit claps a friendly hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Ah, Yuuri,” he sighs, “so innocent.”

“Or perhaps,” Masumi says lightly, although Yuuri can see a mischievous spark in his eyes, “Yuuri only has eyes for his knight.”

“Oh, you would know, Masumi!”

All the others are jeering now, continuing in their hooting and nudging. Yuuri sits there quietly, but his mind is screaming. Him? Ser Viktor? He wills his face not to redden but the heat he feels in his cheeks tells him that he’s doing a shit job at it. He had thought the teasing about a betrothal had been just that--just young squires teasing and making jests. They keep saying his, he thinks, trying not to panic. Could it be true? But wouldn’t he _know_ if it were true?

He doesn’t want to dwell on it this very moment, and is relieved when they return to the original subject.

“The festival!” Guang-Hong says excitedly. “I’ve never been before!”

“Well, you’re just barely into your manhood. I’m not surprised.”

“Ah,” Phichit sighs happily, “this will be my first time as a squire! I’ll get to attend the banquets, the feasts, the balls... and the masquerade.”

The table is whistling again, and Yuuri wonders wearily if this is yet another topic he’ll be teased for not knowing. 

He had been promoted from a page to a squire shortly after his mother had passed, just before the squire’s tourney, but Ser Celestino had taken him as his squire instead of having him compete. That year’s festival had been his first year as a squire as well, and as such he had gained access to events and feasts that were only meant for knights, higher nobles, and royalty. However, he had declined. He had heard stories of the sort of things that went on in the banquet halls, and those sort of things made him nervous. 

And here he is now, not only participating in the festival’s performances, but most likely also being forced to attend such events. To be the squire of a knight of the Royal Guard and not attend noble events would reflect badly on Ser Viktor, and that’s the last thing he would ever want.

“What’s the masquerade?” he asks dully, throwing himself to the dogs before they could come after him first.

As he had expected, the table is in an uproar, and Phichit throws an arm about his shoulders, shaking him a bit.

“Ah, Yuuri! Still so innocent! The masquerade,” he says, waving his arm in a grand gesture, “is where the most foul, the most wicked, the most _exciting_ things happen!” At Yuuri’s puzzled and slightly frightened face, he goes on. “The costumes are the most risqué, the dancing the most sinful, the music the most _exotic._ ” He waggles his eyebrows at him. “You can only imagine the sort of things that happen at the masquerade!”

No, he thinks, he can’t.

\----------

In fact, there are a lot of things that Yuuri can’t imagine, and he feels this way at the end of his next training session, as Ser Viktor once again has an announcement to make before Yuuri and Yura are dismissed.

“Now that you know you are to participate in this year’s sword dance,” he begins, “you will now train with a theme in mind. A theme that I will assign to you.”

He pauses for effect, and Yura huffs impatiently. “Yes, well, what is it?”

Viktor clears his throat, and Yuuri wonders if he should find a seat, as he feels a very long and very dramatic speech coming.

“Very long ago, in very faraway lands, there were gods, goddesses, deities, and all manners of celestial beings that were believed to represent everything known to us. Emotions, creatures, nature, concepts--these all had a being that ruled over them, sometimes even several beings at once. There were gods of war, gods of justice, gods of the earth and of the sea, and” he adds, and his smile says that Yuuri should brace himself, “gods of love.”

Yuuri has not braced himself enough. He and the Prince exchange glances, and for a moment Yuuri is grateful that they have fallen in sync when it came to being bewildered by their instructor.

“Love,” Viktor continues, “comes in many forms. The love one feels for their kin, for their peers, or for their lovers. Innocent love, obsessive love, unrequited love, sexual love.” Yuuri looks away from him at this last one, and hopes his face hasn’t gone _too_ red.

“Well?” Yura drawls, bored. “Are we to dance for love? Is that it?”

“Yes, actually!” Viktor seems thrilled. “I’m glad you’ve caught on!”

The Prince has gone pale. “I-I, _what?”_

“The theme of your dance is love. The two of you are to represent different forms of love for your dance. And,” he adds with a wink, “you are to dance to win the love of a fair young maiden. Myself!”

The boys stare at him.

“That’s a jest?” Yura says, although his tone suggests that he already suspects that it is not.

“Not at all! Your dance is to impress me. To sway me. Convince me that what you feel is real, not for me but for whatever _you_ think love is.”

Yuuri has been in a state of shock throughout all this, and he nearly reels as Viktor adds, “I’ll reward the winner with a kiss!” and winks once more.

Yura makes a retching sound, and Yuuri wishes he could fade from existence this very moment.

“You said that we are to represent different forms of love?” Yuuri asks absently, as his mind is screaming in the distance. “What did you mean by that?”

Viktor beams as though he’s been waiting for someone to finally ask him that, and carries on, dramatic as ever.

“There are countless gods and beings to represent countless forms of love! I have selected one for each of you.” He raises a finger. “One is Eros, the god of sexual love.” He raises a second finger. “The other is Anteros, the god of requited love. These were brothers, and two of the winged love gods. I will assign one to each of you.”

Yura had scoffed at the idea of requited love, and Yuuri had fidgeted nervously as Viktor spoke of sexual love. The idea of any sort of love makes Yuuri uncomfortable, but sexual love is something that brings up something dark, something barely remembered, something that makes his stomach twist hotly. Perhaps he’s just sick.

“Yura,” Viktor says, and the Prince scowls, though he seems slightly worried, “you will dance to Anteros, the god of requited love. This is a pure love, a returned love, a selfless love. You will dance to this, but to convince me you must first convince yourself. Discover what it means to love and have your love returned.”

The Prince’s face has gone pale again, and he’s staring wide-eyed at Viktor. “I... me? That-that is- that can’t-”

“Yuuri,” Viktor ignores Yura’s sputtering and turns to him, “you will dance to Eros, the god of sexual love. Passion, sensuality, pleasure after pleasure. You must convince me that you feel this love. Convince me that you know what Eros is to you.” He pauses, then looks at Yuuri in a way that makes his heart stop.

“Seduce me.”


	12. Gay Knights 12: The Musical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ACCIDENTALLY SCREWED IT UP SO HERE IT IS AGAIN

The boys are to continue their training as per usual, but Viktor had decided that their dance practice be separate, so that Lady Minako could give either of them her full attention until they had mastered their theme.

“You cannot dance together until you know what the hell you’re doing,” he had succinctly put it. 

Yuuri enters the small ballroom where the Lady normally instructs her dancers, and finds Minako waiting for him. She smiles at him as he approaches.

“Good afternoon, my La-”

“Oh, enough with that. You may call me Minako, at least within my ballroom. Let’s begin!”

Yuuri is dressed very lightly, as instructed. He hopes that this will help him be more graceful, but so far he’s as clumsy as he was in training gear. Being assigned Eros the day before had shaken him badly, and he feels twice as nervous now.

“Yuuri,” Minako chastises him, “you’ve got to let go of your inhibitions. You cannot dance like this, which means that you cannot fight like this either.”

“How can I let go? I’m sorry, I just don’t know what you mean.”

She looks at him thoughtfully. “Well, at the moment I just need to you to be able to perform the very basics. So to let go, you need to trust yourself. Believe that you can do this. I know it isn’t easy, but you’ve got to stop being nervous about everything. And don’t be nervous about that,” she adds as he starts to fidget.

Yuuri takes a deep breath. “Alright. Please, can I try again?”

For the rest of the session he only falls on his arse half as much as usual, and he counts that as a personal victory.

==========

Viktor is visiting Christophe again later that night as Yuuri once again draws his bath. Christophe is bent over in his chair, nearly wheezing with laughter.

“Y-you _didn’t!_ ”

“I most certainly did.” Viktor’s trying not to laugh and failing, and he blames the fine bottle of wine they had decided to share that night. He raises his glass and winks. “They say I’m the devil, you know.”

Christophe is red in the face, and nearly drops his own glass as he straightens up again.

“Ah, my friend,” he sighs, “when will you let that poor boy be?” Viktor snorts into his wine as the other man goes on. “This is just cruel!”

“It is not!” he protests, although he knows it really is. “I simply want him to step out of his comfort zone.”

“And into yours, hm?”

Viktor scowls at him. “That’s a low blow, Ser.”

Christophe sighs again. “Eros. How do you suppose he’s going to figure that one out? I think the boy would die if anyone so much as held his hand.”

“Oh, he’s done much more than that,” Viktor mutters into his glass. Christophe levels him with a look. “I know that was in the past,” he adds, before the other man can interrupt, “but I thought perhaps...”

“That he’d be the same he was then? That you’d re-awaken that? Are you expecting him to down a tankard of ale mid-fight and climb upon your lap again? Swing you ‘round the banquet hall a bit, perhaps? Look deeply into your eyes and profess his love for you?” Christophe says wryly.

Viktor is silent, and after a while he says, very quietly, “I’m a fool, aren’t I?”

“Oh, absolutely. Come, we’ve still got half an entire bottle left!”

==========

Yuuri wipes the sweat off his brow with a cloth by the wash basin when he hears Ser Viktor enter. “Ah, Ser, your bath is ready!”

He turns to find the knight much closer than he had thought. He smells heavily of wine, and Yuuri can see by his swaying and the look in his eyes that he’s quite drunk.

“Ser?”

To his surprise, Viktor is looking at him sadly, so very sadly. Yuuri doesn’t know what to say or what to do. They stare at one another.

“Yuuri,” Viktor finally says, and his voice is hoarse and twice as miserable as he looks. “Yuuri, I...”

He nearly falls, and Yuuri darts forward to catch him.

“Steady, Ser! Are you alright?”

“Absolutely fine,” the knight whispers, and his eyes are glazed and somewhere far away.

Yuuri takes a deep breath. Don’t be nervous, Lady Minako’s voice echoes in his ears. Right. Don’t be nervous.

“Come, Ser, let’s get you into the bath.”

He manages to keep him steady as he helps him remove his clothing, and Yuuri is suddenly struck with the fact that he’s face to face with a nearly naked Viktor, and he feels his face redden. He’s had a bath with him before, and as a squire it's his duty to help dress and armor his knight.

And yet he’s here attempting to hold him up, far too aware of his bare chest, his stark collarbones, the curve of his neck, and the arms that Yuuri’s supporting are firm, muscular--in fact his entire body is firm, the muscles gliding beneath taut and smooth skin, so very smooth and hot, the heat coming from him in waves, and it’s almost too hot to bear, and he looks up into eyes that look like cloudy and storm-filled skies.

“Yuuri...”

Something hot twists in Yuuri’s stomach, and he loses his composure.

“S-ser, ah, alright, almost-er, j-just take these off, a-and into the water, there we go.”

Yuuri knows his face must be bright red by now. Viktor is slowly lowering himself into the tub, and Yuuri is trying to look anywhere else but not doing a very good job of it.

Viktor stares down at the water, his silvery hair obscuring his face. Yuuri hovers, uncertain if he should stay or not. Viktor slides lower in the tub, and Yuuri thinks it best to stay so the knight doesn’t drown himself. He sits on the edge of the tub, and after a brief pause he reaches out to brush his hair aside. Viktor looks as though he may have been crying, and Yuuri feels the strong urge to protect him; though from what, he doesn’t know.

“Ser,” he says softly. “Are you alright? Please, Ser.”

“Please,” Viktor murmurs, eyes still on the water.

Yuuri pulls his hand away, meaning to grab up the soft sponge to wipe the knight’s face, but Viktor grabs it, leaning his face into his palm. His eyes are closed now, and he lets out a shuddering breath. Yuuri brushes his thumb across his cheek soothingly, and he’s silently fretting about what he should do next when Viktor speaks again.

“Yuuri,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.”

Yuuri blinks. “Ser? Sorry? But why?”

Viktor shakes his head slightly, falling silent again. He still hasn’t opened his eyes.

Yuuri doesn’t know what comes over him, but suddenly he’s leaning forward, and suddenly he has Viktor’s head pressed to his chest, and suddenly his arms are around Viktor’s shoulders, his face buried in his hair, the same hair he runs his fingers through in his dreams, and he feels Viktor melt into his touch, letting out another shuddering breath that may have been a sob.

“Don’t worry, Viktor,” Yuuri whispers, “there isn’t anything you could ever do that you would ever have to apologize to me for.”

Viktor begins to mumble something into his chest, and he pulls back to hear him better.

“-a fool. I’m... such... to think that you would feel... that we might... that we could ever...” he trails off, his eyes still closed.

Yuuri’s heart begins to race. “That we could ever what, Ser?”

Viktor’s head is hanging down once more, his face lost behind a silvery curtain.

“Viktor?”

“You’re too good... I don’t-” Viktor takes another sobbing breath, “I don’t deserve...” 

Yuuri stands, trying to pull Viktor up with him. “Come on, Ser, let’s get you dressed for bed.”

He nearly loses his grip on the knight as he helps him out of the tub, but he catches him, holding him close, and for the briefest of moments Yuuri is once again gazing into eyes like the stormy sea; waves that crash and bring him in with the tide, far in towards them, and their faces are so close, and Yuuri has such a sudden and insane urge to kiss him that he nearly drops him again.

“S-sorry, Ser. Let’s get you dressed.”

Soon he has Viktor back in his chambers, and as he’s helping him onto the bed Viktor grabs his hand again, bringing it to his lips, kissing his gold ring, and he mumbles something in a drunken slur.

“What was that, Ser?”

“Yuuri. Let’s sleep together.”

Yuuri may have fainted on the spot had the knight not been holding his hand. His head is still bent over it, droplets of water dripping from his hair and running down Yuuri’s fingers. There’s a long pause as Yuuri tries to think of a coherent answer, and Viktor slowly releases his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

Yuuri’s heart drops, and he quickly grabs Viktor’s hand up in his own. He brings it to his lips now, kissing his ring in return, and Viktor makes a strange noise that could have been a sob or a laugh.

“Okay. Let’s sleep together.”

==========

Viktor winces and blinks as the sunlight filters brightly through the large windows. Too bright, far too bright. Curse the sun, to have the audacity to rise each morning.

His head is pounding, a sure sign that he’d had far too much to drink last night. He recalls the bottle he and Christophe had finished, and he recalls stumbling back to his chambers, and he’s vaguely aware that Yuuri had given him a bath, and suddenly he’s very certainly aware that there is a Yuuri in his bed, an entire Yuuri, and he’s very certainly aware that his arms are around the boy, and the boy’s head is buried into his chest, and his chest tightens because he suddenly can’t breathe.

He’s trying to have a nervous breakdown as quietly as possible, so as not to wake him, but Yuuri must have felt his sudden tensing, because now he’s stirring and Viktor is frantically trying to remember what could have possibly happened last night that would lead to Yuuri sleeping in his bed and now Viktor is counting the seconds down until he dies. Although if he had to die, doing so with his arms around Yuuri would be worth it.

Yuuri makes a small sound as he wakes and Viktor _melts_ because it just _isn’t fair,_ and then the boy looks up at him. His eyes are sleepy and he’s smiling in a content but rather shy sort of way, and Viktor is absolutely speechless.

“Good morning, Ser.”

“I-I, er,” he’s regained his ability to speak, but is doing a rather shit job at utilizing it. "I. Um. Good morning, Yuuri.”

The boy reddens suddenly, as if remembering where he is and who he’s currently snuggled into, and he looks as though he’s having an internal struggle as to whether or not he ought to jump out of bed in a blind panic. Viktor is wondering if he ought to do the same.

But Yuuri is soft and warm and Viktor never wants to let go. So he doesn’t, and the two just sort of stare at each other.

“Um,” Yuuri breaks the silence, “are you alright, Ser?”

“Me? Perfectly fine.” He thinks his voice has risen a few octaves, and he clears his throat nervously.

“Ah. Er, well, last night you seemed very... unwell?”

“Unwell,” Viktor echoes, blinking at him. “What do you mean? Drunk? I certainly was.”

“Well, yes, but... you were very sad, and,” Yuuri’s voice softens and he looks away, “I... I don’t know, you seemed as if you were crying. And you kept telling me that you were sorry.”

Viktor gapes at him. “I did? I said that?”

“Er, you don’t remember, Ser?”

“I... can’t say that I do.”

“I see,” Yuuri murmurs, more to himself than to Viktor.

“I. Um. I’m sorry.”

Yuuri grins up at him. “See? I told you so.”

==========

Today is one of the days that Yuuri has off from training, so that he may spend the day assisting his knight in his various tasks and duties, as a squire must. As Ser Viktor is the High Commander, this can be rather exhausting, and he finds that he has traversed the castle more than he ever did as a servant. Occasionally Viktor must attend any sort of conference between the royals and the higher nobles, and other persons of importance both within the castle or from other parts of the kingdom. 

Despite being a Royal Squire, Yuuri is not able to participate in these sorts of things. And so he is stationed outside of the Royal Court, keeping watch. The other Royal Squires, Otabek and Masumi, are stationed with him, as their Royal Knights are also in attendance for such meetings. The three of them don’t mind missing out, as their knights have described these events as very dull.

Viktor looks very disgruntled and exhausted as he enters the Court, but before he does, he gives Yuuri a friendly clap on the shoulder as he passes, and his touch and gaze linger before he moves on. The doors close, and Masumi turns to Yuuri immediately.

“Well? Have you and Ser Viktor finally-”

“That’s quite enough, sir,” Yuuri says rather hotly. He's growing weary of the constant teasing and implications involving him and his knight.

Masumi shrugs in a sort of apologetic way. Squire Otabek speaks up, which is unusual for him, as he isn’t normally talkative.

“Is it wrong to be involved in such a way with one’s knight? Or any noble, or perhaps even...” he trails off, looking suddenly uncomfortable.

Masumi shrugs yet again. “Well, it’s no secret that Ser Christophe and I are lovers. I’d certainly never deny it. I suppose our status means that we are immune to any disapproval. To our faces, anyway.”

Otabek looks thoughtful at this, but also somewhat worried. “And suppose that it is someone of even higher ranking?”

Yuuri frowns at him, puzzled. “Higher ranked than a Royal Knight? That doesn’t leave much else.” He pauses, eyes widening suddenly, “U-unless you mean-”

“YUURI!”

He cringes, and turns to see Minami approaching, looking ecstatic.

“Yuuri!” he squeaks, “I haven’t seen you in quite a while!”

Yuuri has made certain of that. “Oh, er, hello, Minami.”

“I knew it! I knew you were truly a squire! And Ser Viktor’s? What an honor, Ser!” His eyes sparkle.

“I’m not the Ser, Minami, Viktor is.”

“But you will be! Just you wait!”

Yuuri has the sudden realization that this young page had assisted in Phichit’s scheme to unite him and Viktor, and he softens at once. He hasn’t done anything to earn this boy’s worship, and he would like to fix that.

“Thank you, Minami. Thank you for having such faith in me. You’ll make a fine squire someday.”

Minami looks as though he might cry, and before Yuuri can react he throws his arms about him, hugging him tightly.

“Thank you, Ser! Thank you!”

Yuuri simply smiles and pats his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is it with me and sad Viktor in a tub?


	13. Gay Knights 13: The Lost Episodes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates might slow a bit!

“Ser Viktor.”

Viktor pauses on his way out of the Royal Court. Lords and Ladies and emissaries file past him, and Ser Christophe and Ser Georgi shoot him a quick look before leaving him behind.

Viktor turns to face the King. He’s seated on his throne upon the dais, the Queen beside him. Neither of them look particularly happy, but that seems to be their default expressions. Viktor prays that the lines on his own face won’t be so severe when he grows older.

“Your Grace?”

King Yakov gestures for him to shut the doors, then beckons him closer. Behind closed doors, the three of them are slightly more informal, so Viktor does not take a knee before them as he approaches.

There’s a small pause before the King speaks again.

“You are training our son.”

Viktor isn’t sure if this is a statement or a question, so he nods hesitantly.

“Yes, Your Grace, and The Prince is doing a fine-”

“And,” Yakov cuts him off, “you are training this... _boy._ ”

Viktor’s heart races as he nods again. He had been training the two of them for quite some time now, perhaps a fortnight or so. Why is the King bringing this to attention now?

“Your behavior thus far has been inexcusable,” Queen Lilia speaks up suddenly. Viktor stares, taken aback.

Yakov shoots her a sidelong look, but the Queen continues, “Yes, absolutely so. To nearly abandon your Prince, to waste your time obsessing over this _boy,_ to then  _lie_ to your Prince’s face-”

 _“Lie?”_ Viktor curses himself for speaking over the Queen, but his shock is too great.

“The High Commander cannot provide his services to the Prince and take on a _squire_ at the same time, _Ser_. I have sat silent on this matter for too long. My fool of a husband may have let your selfish behavior pass unnoticed, but I shall _not.”_

Viktor gapes, speechless. King Yakov looks uncomfortable.

Silence.

“Your Grace,” Viktor says slowly, “it is stated nowhere that-”

“Yes,” she says sharply, “I’m _quite_ aware. But we had an arrangement, Ser, and you have broken it.”

Viktor’s heart sinks. Yes, an arrangement. He kicks himself for thinking he could get away with it. And for sort of forgetting about it.

The High Commander can indeed take on a squire. But he had promised the King and Queen that he would not. As a knight of the Royal Guard, he had been prepared to have one--new chambers with an extra room, and a token bestowed upon him by the King upon being promoted. But after the previous High Commander had retired, Ser Georgi taking his place as the third Royal Knight, Viktor had soon found himself with a new title, a new duty, and a new secret.

The room in his chambers was now meant to go unused. His token, while thought by all to be given to his future squire, was now meant to be given to his future pupil--the Prince.

Yes, it is stated nowhere that a High Commander cannot train the Prince and take on a squire at the same time. But Viktor had promised the King and Queen in secret. With Ser Georgi being older but a bastard, Yura was their only trueborn son, and they wanted nothing but perfection for the Crown Prince. They wanted his skill to surpass all--even Ser Viktor.

It’s all a load of horseshit, Ser Viktor thinks angrily. No previous High Commander had been in service long enough to train a Prince _in addition_ to leading the troops and protecting the throne. It isn’t _his_ fault that the King and Queen had taken so long to produce a trueborn heir. One that would conveniently come of age during Ser Viktor’s service.

Horseshit, he thinks again, and immediately pushes the thought away, hoping the indignation isn’t showing on his face. 

“My Queen,” Viktor begins, panicking, “I-I, please, if you would just allow me to-”

“I will allow _nothing_.” She pauses, as the King has just laid his hand gently upon hers. She turns to him, and they seem to have a silent conversation. Viktor squirms.

“Ser Viktor,” the King says finally, turning to face him, “you have done a great service to the throne and to this kingdom, and thus I have... turned a blind eye to many of your actions. I will not do so now.”

Before Viktor can faint, the King continues. “However, considering that you’ve already gone and cocked things up, the Queen and I are willing to pardon you.”

“Pardon?” Viktor says absently.

“Yes. We will allow you to keep your squire. But should any amount of attention be taken from the Prince in favor of this boy, I will not hesitate to have him stripped of his titles once more.”

Viktor does take a knee this time, as his legs have grown too weak to stand.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

==========

Days later, Yuuri arrives to the training grounds early only to find Yura already there, sitting on one of the large stones and frowning at nothing in particular. This is not an unusual expression for the Prince, but Yuuri senses something more behind it.

“Good morning, Yura.”

Yura nods at him absently. Yuuri pauses a bit before joining him on one of the stones. Viktor had told Yuuri to go on ahead early, and that he’d arrive slightly late. Yuuri knows that ‘slightly late’ could mean anywhere from two minutes to nearly an hour when it comes to Ser Viktor. He suspects he may be sitting upon this stone for quite a while.

After a lengthy silence, Yura speaks up.

“Have you discovered what Eros is to you?”

Yuuri is slightly taken aback by this question, but he considers it briefly. His mind takes him somewhere that he’d rather not share with the Prince--or anyone, really. So he gives a sort of noncommittal shrug.

“Well, not exactly, but I’m trying. Once I’ve got the basics of dancing down, Lady Minako will help me.”

Yura nods again, still staring off into the distance.

“Er. And you? How is your... Anteros coming along?”

The Prince frowns again. “I’m unsure.”

“Ah.”

Another pause.

“I suppose I love my family,” he speaks up again suddenly. Yuuri is surprised but says nothing. “I’ve never fully considered it. A son is supposed to love his father and mother, is that not so?” He snorts and adds, “Even siblings, bastard or not.”

“Hm. Er. Well, Ser Viktor described Anteros as requited love. A love that is returned. Your family also loves you. Shouldn’t that count?”

“Yes,” Yura says slowly, finally glancing his way, “but I feel as though there’s more to it.”

There’s a longer pause.

“Friends?” Yuuri suggests, and immediately regrets it, as the Prince frowns once more, and there’s a flicker of some unknown emotion in his eyes.

“I don’t really have many. Or any, I guess.”

There’s a rather long silence, and Yuuri eventually breaks it.

“I think I’m your friend, aren’t I?”

Yura scrunches up his nose in disgust, but Yuuri can see the color rise in his cheeks. “You? My friend? I hate you.”

Yuuri smiles at him. “I don’t think you do.”

The Prince scowls, looking away. “Well, I certainly don’t love _you._ ”

“But you don’t hate me,” Yuuri points out helpfully, “so I think that also counts.”

There’s yet another drawn out silence. Yura continues to scowl in the other direction, and Yuuri frets, wondering if he’s said something wrong. Then again, he supposes that everything he ever says in front of the Prince is wrong.

“How can you say that?” the Prince asks suddenly, and Yuuri hears an odd tone in his voice.

“Say what?”

“How?” Yura asks again, his voice trembling slightly. “How can you say that you’re my friend?”

Yuuri frets even harder. “Er, well, we’ve been practicing for together for quite some time, so I-”

“I tried to ruin your life,” Yura says hotly, still not turning to face him. “Are you some sort of saint, forgiving me without trial? Is that it? Do you think you’re too good for hatred?”

Yuuri scrambles to think of a reply, “I mean, no--er, I-”

“You’re a fool.” The Prince still refuses to meet his gaze.

“I don’t forgive you.”

The Prince turns to stare at him now, eyes widening.

“I don’t forgive you,” Yuuri says again, willing his voice not to falter, “because you tried to ruin my life. Because you disgraced me before the castle, and the kingdom. Because I had to serve, and bruise, and bleed.” Yuuri takes a shaking breath. “Perhaps I would not have crossed paths with Ser Viktor had it not been for your scheming. But I don’t forgive you.”

The silence stretches on, and Yuuri holds his ground. Yura continues to stare, but Yuuri sees no anger in his gaze.

“I see,” he says softly.

The odd emotion in his tone is stronger now, but Yuuri hasn’t much time to puzzle over it, as Ser Viktor enters the grounds, and their training begins.

\----------

The next time Yuuri practices in the ballroom, he finds that he’s performing much better now. He's able to flex fairly well, and is mostly in step with many of his twists and spins. Minako looks very pleased.

“Excellent, Yuuri! I’m glad to see you improving. A little confidence goes a long way, and you’ve come very far these past few sessions.”

Yuuri is thrilled to hear this, and anxious to move onto whatever is next. Minako doesn’t keep him waiting.

“Now, it’s time to focus on your theme. Eros. Sexual love. What does that mean to you, Yuuri?”

Yuuri blushes profusely, but manages not to look away. Or faint. Definitely an improvement. “Well, I haven’t really sorted that out much yet. All I can say for certain is that it feels like...” he trails off, thinking of firm hands, fingers running through soft hair, bodies pressed, and blue skies. “Er, it feels as though someone has set a knife ablaze and has run me through with it.”

Minako lets out a surprised laugh. “Well, shall we set you ablaze for your performance, sir?”

Yuuri smiles weakly. “No, ma’am, I don’t think I’d enjoy that very much.”

Minako is suddenly serious, arms crossed, gazing into the distance thoughtfully.

“Yuuri, in these situations, how do you see yourself? Do you feel as though you’re playing the young and scandalous Lord seeking the conquest of a fair maiden? Are you the devilish Lord Yuuri Katsuki, breaking hearts wantonly, leaving pining lovers in your wake?”

Yuuri frowns and shakes his head. That doesn’t sound like him at all.

“Well then, would you rather the maiden herself, swept up into a sexual frenzy by said devilish Lord? Perhaps becoming quite the succubus in the process?”

Yuuri fidgets at this, but he feels as though the latter sounds better than the former.

“T-the, er, succubus sounds a bit more... that is, er, I mean-”

“Excellent!” Minako exclaims once more. “This helps to direct your performance. You shall play the succubus--slender, sinuous, seducing. I’ve a few ideas in mind, so let’s begin with those.”

‘Seduce me,’ Yuuri remembers suddenly.

Oh, he certainly will. Of that, he is sure.

==========

Viktor soon brings them into a large room filled with a wide array of fabrics, looms, spinning wheels, and other sewing and weaving supplies. Seamstresses fill the room, hard at work, though they pause enough to watch them enter. They all bow or incline their heads respectfully towards the Prince, and Yura seems pleased at this.

The Head Seamstress approaches.

“My Prince! How may we be of service?”

Yura seems even more pleased at having been addressed first, but Viktor puts an end to that by clearing his throat and stepping forward.

“Milady, I’ve arrived in order to request your services. I require a costume be made for both of my pupils.”

“Oh!” the woman seems flustered, “Yes, yes of course, High Commander! What is it you wish?”

Viktor hands her a scroll containing a few sketches and notes he had made for each costume. The boys had watched him do so, giving their input every now and then. They seem both excited and anxious to have their costumes done just right, and Viktor doesn’t blame them.

“Clothes make the man,” he had told them with a wink. “Besides, a fair maiden would never fall for someone in peasant’s garb. Impress me!”

They had seemed unimpressed by this.

“With your permission, milady,” Viktor says with a charming smile, “I’ve brought my pupils here to inspect the fabrics and select ones they feel will fit their needs.”

The Head Seamstress accepts the scroll, gesturing them towards the racks of fabrics. “Please, be my guest, Ser. The room is yours to peruse.”

The boys look around, awestruck. Viktor supposes that Yuuri has never seen such a splendid display, and the Prince has never stopped to appreciate the work that went into his fine wardrobe. They rummage through piles, whispering excitedly to each other--although Viktor hears Yura snap “that’s _mine_ ” on occasion--and they soon have a collection of fabrics and materials. 

Yuuri has chosen blacks and reds, leather and netting, as he thinks they seem more seductive. Black as mysterious as night paired with dark passionate red. Viktor sees him blushing, and he’s secretly _very_ excited to see what the seamstresses will prepare for him. 

Yura has chosen mainly whites, as it seems fitting for the concept of pure love. Viktor sees him hand over glittering white scalemail, and he’s impressed. At least the boy's being practical.

With these few things sorted out, Viktor shoos them from the room, leaving the seamstresses to their work.

==========

Ser Viktor dismisses them for the day after they've finished selecting their costumes, and Yuuri calls out to Yura as he starts to make his way to his chambers.

“Er, Yura?”

The boy turns to glare at him, but pauses. “Well? What do you want?”

“About before. Er. I didn’t mean to... um, I only meant,” he looks away nervously as he sees Yura growing impatient with him, “I mean, I wanted to help you with your Anteros. I’m sorry if I may have offended you.”

Yura looks surprised, almost suspicious.

“Help me? How so?”

“Well,” Yuuri says slowly, “you said you hadn’t got any friends, so I... er, I mean, I wouldn’t mind... being your friend?”

The Prince narrows his eyes but says nothing. Yuuri supposes that this is a step in the right direction.

“I’m sure there are others. Ser Viktor? Surely he’s a friend?”

Yura makes a retching sound. “No, I hate him.”

Yuuri can’t help but grin.

“Well,” he says thoughtfully, feeling a bit more confident in his helpfulness, "I’ve heard talk that you and Squire Otabek get on well.”

Yura rounds on him suddenly, his eyes ablaze and his face nearly ablaze as well. “Talk? What sort of talk? Who is speaking of this?”

Yuuri jumps back in surprise. “Oh! Er, it isn’t anything bad, the other squires simply say that the two of you seem friendly towards one another. And Otabek certainly doesn’t deny it. He’s a quiet sort of fellow, but he seems pleased when he hears this.”

Yura stares at him for a long while before turning away. “I see,” he says at some length, then walks away.

Yuuri wonders if he’s said something wrong again.


	14. Gay Knights 14: HD Blu Ray Special 50th Anniversary Edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really. Gay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna update this weekend but I have a convention so I'll just post this one now! This is one of the gayest chapters I've ever written.
> 
> Also! Here's some art of pre-story young Viktor and Yuuri.  
> http://yuripaws.tumblr.com/post/160310147876/
> 
> I'm gonna add art more often, especially for the next few chapters due to costumes and such.

As the Festival draws nearer, Viktor notices that Yuuri has retired from the banquet hall early one day, and when he returns to his chambers he sees that Yuuri seems to be practicing the lessons he’s been learning with Lady Minako. He stretches, testing his flexibility, and Viktor takes a moment to admire his form.

“Practicing? Such dedication!”

Yuuri turns and smiles at him, but there’s a sort of anxiousness in it that’s puzzling.

“Yes, Ser. I wanted to practice... er, I mean,” he begins to look flustered. Viktor has already started removing his armor, and Yuuri rushes forward to assist. Viktor notices that he’s trembling. As Viktor is finally stripped down to more comfortable clothing to retire for the night, he seats himself in his chair, sighing wearily. He’s suddenly aware that Yuuri is staring at him very intently.

“Are you alright, Yuuri?

Yuuri continues to stare. Viktor stares back. Without warning, Yuuri moves forward, and, gripping the arms of the chair on either side, leans into him, still staring intently. Viktor cannot move, as the boy’s warm brown eyes are filled with a fire that renders him helpless.

“Yuuri?” His heart is racing, but the boy still hasn’t spoken a word. Instead, he reaches out, cupping Viktor’s chin, tilting his head up towards him, his thumb brushing across his lips.

Viktor wonders if this is one of his highly inappropriate dreams, but rules out that idea, as by this point they’d have both been naked already. He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, and he takes a shaking breath.

Yuuri’s thumb presses down against Viktor’s bottom lip, and he leans in forward, his eyes still never leaving his. Viktor is astounded that he hasn't died yet.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says softly, lowering his gaze to Viktor’s lips now and licking his own, “am I seducing you?”

Viktor blinks at him. “Er. I-I-what?” he stammers. He sees the first sign of doubt in the boy’s face, followed by nervousness.

“You told me you needed me to seduce you during my performance. Am I seducing you now? Am I, um...” he looks very nervous now, leaning away slightly, “u-um, am I doing it well, Ser? I... I feel as though I should maybe... practice?”

Viktor is surprised that his heart hasn’t given out yet, because Yuuri’s face is so alluringly flushed, and his thumb is still against his lips. “I, er... yes, I’d say you’ve done a decent enough job.” He hopes his reddened face and idiotic stammering haven’t given away how absolutely shaken he is.

“I see,” Yuuri says softly, withdrawing. Viktor has the insane urge to tell him that he ought to work harder, and that he would be his willing practice partner. But Yuuri bids him good night and disappears into his room. Viktor slumps in his chair, wondering how the hell he’s going to be able to sleep now.

So he doesn’t. Not for a while, anyway. His mind is racing, and he’s so very full of guilt. Assigning the theme of Eros to the boy had placed a heavy and stressful burden on him, and Viktor sees that clearly now, and he’s so full of guilt, especially after his blunder tonight--filling the boy’s mind with doubt, possibly undoing any progress in confidence he’d been making.

He’ll make it up to Yuuri. He’ll do something for him. Something to put him at ease and take his mind off of his task. Something that he’d enjoy.

An idea strikes him suddenly, and he rushes to bed. He’ll have an early start tomorrow.

==========

"Yuuri."

Yuuri wakes with a small start, and the first thing he registers is that it's early, far too early; the sun not even risen, the sky still dark. The second thing he registers is Ser Viktor, standing over him and nudging him gently. Yuuri squints at him, half-asleep and bleary-eyed, wondering if this is the start of one of those dreams he tries so hard to push away when awake.

"Yuuri," Viktor whispers again, "wake up, Yuuri. I've got a surprise for you."

"Ser," he groans as he rises, rubbing at his eyes, "I think it's a bit early for a surprise."

The knight beams at him. "Not at all! Come now, let's get dressed and head out."

Out? Yuuri frowns as he stumbles out of his room, trying his best to dress himself and his knight while stifling an endless barrage of yawns. He notices that Viktor has laid out more armor for himself than he usually wears around the castle, and has laid out more for Yuuri was well, although it's mainly thick leather and light mail. Where were they going? Yuuri watches as the knight then straps on his sheathed sword, and he's even more shocked. What could he possibly need a real blade for?

The knight now hands him a beautiful and long dagger and its sheath and strap. "Better safe than sorry," he says with a wink.

Yuuri figures he shouldn't bother trying to understand anything Ser Viktor does.

They stroll through the corridors now, and soon they're passing through one of the large sets of castle doors. The stationed guards nod at Viktor respectfully as they pass, though Yuuri sees them exchange puzzled glances.

It's so very early, the grass dewy and the first of the birds just starting to chirp, and Yuuri can see the glowing halo of the sun just below the horizon. He realizes now that they're headed towards the stables, and his heart begins to race.

"Ser?" he starts to ask, but Viktor merely smiles at him. They enter the stables now, and one of the overnight grooms lies in the corner, wrapped in blankets and fast asleep. He wakes with a start at the sound of their footsteps, and at the sound of the horses becoming restless. He scrambles to his feet when he sees them.

"Ser! Er, how may I assist you?" He seems to struggle through his sluggishness as he approaches them.

"Sorry to trouble you," Viktor says brightly, "but we'd like our horses readied at once." He reaches into his purse and flips him a couple of gold bits. The groom catches them gratefully, and makes his way to the nearest stall.

"Yes, of course," he says as he reaches Yuuri's horse's stall, and Yuuri has about half a second to realize that-

"I'll have Vicchan here prepared at once."

Yuuri freezes. _Oh god_.  

"Vicchan?" Viktor sounds _thrilled_. "How precious!" He turns to beam at Yuuri, and Yuuri wishes he could sink into the floor of the stables and never resurface. If he has to live among the hay and horse droppings, so be it.

Viktor pats Vicchan gently as he's being saddled. "Oh, he looks so very much like my Makkachin. How _precious_ ," he repeats, and Yuuri can see the teasing laughter in his eyes.

Yuuri doesn't have much time to contemplate his own death, as he's now leading Vicchan down towards the nobles' section of stalls. He notices that the previously empty stall beside Makkachin appears to be prepared for a new occupant, and the groom seems to read his thoughts.

"Your horse will be kept in this quarter, beside your knight's. Er, if you wish."

Yuuri nods absently, stroking Vicchan lovingly. It had been so long since he had been able to call his horse his own. And now he stands here beside Viktor's own as he's being prepared, and the two sniff noses, ears pricked curiously. Makkachin nuzzles Vicchan, then turns to nose at Yuuri’s pockets, huffing expectantly.

“No apple for him this time, eh?” Viktor’s grin is sly and playful, and Yuuri, stunned, says nothing, though the color rising in his cheeks speaks for him. It strikes him every now and then that Ser Viktor had remembered him so clearly, and that he had been searching for him for so long. The thought often fills him with a feeling that he pushes away, unable to understand.

As the two mount their horses and exit the stables, Viktor leads the way towards the castle gatehouse. Yuuri once again finds that he doesn't have enough time to react, as Viktor turns to him suddenly before Yuuri can question him.

"Yuuri! Race me to the gates!"

He urges Makkachin forward into a gallop, and Yuuri gapes after him for a few seconds. He feels Vicchan move restlessly beneath him, as though the other horse's excitement has sparked his own, and Yuuri snaps out of his daze as the two of them surge forward as one.

It's an exhilarating rush; the wind through his hair, the rise and fall, the speed, and he whoops as he breezes by his knight, hears him shout in surprise, and the two are neck and neck now, and neither of them can stop laughing.

“Have you grown old, Ser?” Yuuri calls out to him, grinning wickedly.

“Mind your elders, boy!” Viktor bites back.

By the time they reach the portcullis, they're winded, shaking with breathless wheezes of laughter. With windswept hair and a manic grin, Viktor looks as though he’s never had this much fun in his entire life. The sight leaves Yuuri twice as breathless.

" _Ser_ ," Yuuri gasps, "you're absolutely _mad_."

Viktor cackles before turning to call up to the gatekeepers to raise the gates. They do so right away, and soon the two of them ride over the drawbridge, and the sound of hoofbeats against the wood, against the cobblestone road, fills Yuuri with an overwhelming nostalgia that he nearly chokes on.

He turns to Viktor as they slow their horses' gaits, understanding now.

"Ser, are we headed towards the city?"

The knight turns to look at him in return, and the way his eyes glow in the soft light of the rising sun makes Yuuri’s insides flutter. Viktor grins.

"Lead the way, Yuuri."  
  
==========

They ride down the road from the castle, and it leads them through the houses, properties, and storefronts of nobles, of rich merchants and the like. The cobblestone roads are beautiful, the shrubbery well-kept, grand fountains and marble statues in the center of the town square. The occupants of this quarter are waking now, and Viktor watches as shopkeepers throw open their doors, displaying luxurious fabrics, fine and shining armor, expertly smithed weapons and shields, the latest fashionable accessories, and delicious delicacies that fill the air with their warm and probably very expensive fragrance.

Viktor is about ready to gorge himself at the nearest sweets shop, but he follows Yuuri as the boy rides past, and he sees that he hardly spares a glance for the extravagant splendor that surrounds them.

They approach the next quarter, and this is where Yuuri slows. The sun is fully risen now, and the city is alive. Bustling crowds, riders weaving their horses through them, outdoor merchants hawking and displaying their wares-- trinkets and cloth and bread and sweets and savory meats, and Yuuri pauses at one cart, pressing coins into the hands of a man who looks thrilled to see him. Viktor is handed a skewer of meat, and it’s more delicious than anything he’s ever tasted at the castle.

It had been quite a long time since Viktor had entered the city to do anything other than lead a brigade to and from the castle. To stay at the side of Royals, to train, to lead his troops--this was all Viktor had ever known. The city is so much more beautiful than he had ever remembered, and he knows why. The brightness of Yuuri’s eyes, the curve of his smile, the sound of his laughter, the pure happiness radiating from the boy are all enough to fill any space with life.

As they move along, Yuuri continues to pause at carts, at storefronts, even at corners where street performers are working up crowds, and he seems to find a friendly face wherever he goes. Viktor feels an odd sort of disquiet settle over him.

Would Yuuri truly have survived outside the castle? Viktor suspects that the boy might have an unintentionally exaggerated sense of pessimism, because Viktor has lost track of the amount of times Yuuri has stopped to greet passersby. And every time the boy does so, Viktor wonders more and more if he had made the right decision to force him into servitude at the castle.

A foolish thought. Of course the boy would have been safer at the castle. The city’s a dangerous place, and for every friendly face, there are ten lurking, waiting. Peacetime or not, cutpurses, brigands, and worse still prowled about, ready to strike at any moment. Viktor grips the hilt of his sword, watching Yuuri carefully.

Yes, Yuuri was certainly safer at the castle. But would Yuuri have been happier here?

‘Selfish.’

Viktor shakes his head, banishing further thought. He continues to follow Yuuri, hovering in the background, not wanting to impede, especially since he’s drawing looks from nearly everyone within range.

So much for being seen by none, he thinks guiltily.

But this doesn’t seem to bother Yuuri at all. The boy returns to him, his eyes shining bright, and Viktor feels something in his stomach flutter.

“Ser! Oh, this is wonderful!” He beckons to him now. “Come, what would you like to see next?”

Viktor considers this. He wants to see whatever Yuuri wants to see, but he knows the boy would insist. A word echoes back to him. _Selfish_. He pushes it away.

What can he do for Yuuri?

“Take me to the finest tailor in the city.”

He receives a puzzled look, but soon he’s being led towards a lovely shop with beautifully made clothing displayed behind its large windows. They dismount and lead their horses around to the side, tying them near a water trough. When they enter the shop, the tailor looks up in surprise.

“Yuuri!” She comes bustling over like a mother hen, looking him up and down. “Where have you been, boy?”

Yuuri grins sheepishly, but the woman takes notice of Viktor before he can say anything. Her eyes widen.

“Oh! I beg your pardon, Ser. How may I be of service?”

Viktor gives her an easy smile. “No need to apologize. I’d like to commission a new surcoat for my squire.” He indicates Yuuri, and the tailor gasps.

“Your _squire_? Yuuri? Is that so?”

Yuuri’s smile is still shy as he nods. “Yes, ma’am. It’s, er, kind of a long story.”

The woman gives him a rather sad look. “I’m afraid I know a bit of it, dear. Most do. It was cruel, what the Prince put you through.” She tenses suddenly, taking notice of Viktor again. “O-oh, no offense meant, Ser!”

“It’s perfectly alright,” Viktor beams at her, “I’m aware that the Prince is a bratty little git. I cannot deny that.”

The woman gapes at him, then recovers quickly. “W-well, then! A surcoat, you say? I can have it made straight away. I suppose you’d like the King’s device emblazoned upon the breast? And your coat of arms?”

“Yes,” Viktor says, then pauses, looking at Yuuri and seeing him fidget a bit uncomfortably. A coat of arms? He has a feeling that Yuuri wouldn’t enjoy bearing the crest of a House that had abandoned him. He’ll have his own, Viktor decides.

“Yuuri, what would you like as your device?”

The boy looks surprised. “My device, Ser?” He seems to puzzle over this. After some time he speaks up, and he reddens slightly. “W-well, there’s, um, a pattern. A-a pattern that I’ve noticed... um, in your chambers.” His face is growing even redder, and Viktor tries to stifle his amusement. “Yes, um, a pattern among the carvings, upon the walls, upon the chests, in gold and jewels...” he trails off.

Viktor can see where this is heading. There’s a repeating pattern upon most of the furniture of his room. He’s never thought much of it, seeing it as a sort of generic flowing sort of flowery design, but it had caught the boy’s eye. Viktor requests a quill and parchment from the tailor, and while she takes the boy’s measurements, he sketches out the pattern as best as he can from memory. Yuuri peers at it excitedly over his shoulder.

“Yes, that one!”

They wave their goodbyes to the tailor as they take their leave. She had promised to have the coat sent out to the castle as early as tomorrow, and had even thrown in a shield bearing the same crest, as her wife produced the finest in the city.

As they retrieve their horses, Viktor turns to say something to Yuuri, but his breath catches in his throat, because the boy is giving him a look so soft that Viktor feels his heart beat faster. To his immense surprise, Yuuri doesn’t redden or look away. That soft gaze lingers, and Viktor returns it. He’s never seen the boy look at him this way, and his heart pounds harder when Yuuri speaks, and his voice is just as tender as his warm brown eyes.

“Thank you, Viktor. For this. For everything. Thank you for taking me here. Thank you for sharing these moments with me.”

Viktor doesn’t know what to say, but he doesn’t need to speak, because Yuuri steps forward to place his arms around him, drawing him in. Viktor wraps his arms around the boy in return, and they stay like that for a short while, faces buried in each other’s shoulders. Viktor never wants to let go.

They pull away slowly, their cheeks brushing, their faces so close, and Viktor tilts his head slightly, his lips just barely grazing Yuuri’s cheek, and he shivers as he feels the boy do the same. He can feel Yuuri’s breath against his lips now, and before Viktor can react, their horses huff and snort loudly, stomping their hooves impatiently.

Yuuri pulls away with a sharp inhale, blushing hard, and his hands tremble as he undoes their restraints. Viktor stares, wondering if his legs even have the strength to mount his horse.

\----------

The surcoat and shield arrive the next day, and Yuuri gasps as they’re unwrapped. The surcoat is a beautiful dark and deep blue, and the King’s device is richly embroidered upon the left breast and either sleeve. The boy’s new crest is emblazoned boldly and brightly upon both coat and shield; a rich violet curving and flowing flower with an emerald green branch on either side. It’s studded with small multicolored gems that sparkle brightly in the sunlight, and although they're far from necessary, Viktor admires them greatly. They match the boy's eyes.

"Well, Yuuri," he says as he turns to the boy, who’s still staring in wide-eyed open-mouthed wonder, "a device must have a motto. Have you thought on that?”

Yuuri’s attention snaps back to him, and his face colors brightly as he nods. He takes a steadying breath.

“In Dilectione Mea.”

Viktor smiles at him gently.

“That’s the best sort of motto.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SLIDES IN WITH RUSHED ART I FORGOT TO DRAW FOR THIS DESIGN... OOPS  
> http://yuripaws.tumblr.com/post/160315969401/


	15. Gay Knights 15: When Will They Fucking Kiss Already

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Eros/Anteros outfits are complete, and I've slapped together some references for them. I'll put them in the end notes, so check it out!

Days turn to weeks, and the next time Yuuri finds himself in Lady Minako’s ballroom, he’s struck with a sudden urge to ask a somewhat embarrassing question.

He’s just learned a few sidestep and spin maneuvers, flexing quite nicely, twisting and turning and balancing almost perfectly. He certainly feels more sinuous, more smoothly snakelike. Minako has taught him how to roll his hips during a swing, and how to run his hands across his body, his face, and his sword in a way that was very suggestive. Despite his lingering shyness, he very much likes this, and feels immensely satisfied with every new trick and technique. He’d master Eros very soon, he thinks.

But it occurs to him today, as he performs a stance that has him run his hand down the length of his body, that there’s more to the festival than the sword dance.

Phichit’s words echo through his head, and he blushes profusely.

“Yuuri? Why have you stopped?”

“O-oh! I apologize, my L-, er, Minako. I, er...” he does his best not to fidget under her stern gaze. “W-well, I had a question. About the festival?”

“Yes, well, what is it?”

Yuuri takes a breath to calm his nerves. “This will be my first year attending the nobles' events, and I... er, I have heard... talk... about some of the things that, er, occur.” He’s so red now that he fears the Lady might laugh, but she continues to gaze at him intently. He continues quickly. “Namely, the, er, masquerade?”

Minako grins now, her hands on her hips. “Yes? Well, what sort of things go on there, might I ask?”

As a Lady, Minako must have been to several of these events, so Yuuri knows that she knows but would like for him to say it aloud.

“The festival is not meant to be... especially virtuous, but I’ve heard that the nobles’ events tend to be scandalous, with the masquerade being the worst of all.”

“I see,” the Lady muses, “well, what is your question, sir?”

Yuuri takes another deep breath. “I would like to know how to dance in such a way that... er, I mean, not as part of my sword dance, but, um,” he falters, “t-the sort of dancing that... occurs...” he trails off, wishing that he could sink into the floor.

“You’d like to learn all the erotic forms of dancing.” Minako says bluntly. Yuuri nods, his face hot. “You don’t consider your Eros dance to be enough?”

“W-well, it’s certainly a start, but it’s fit more for my fight than for a ballroom, isn’t it? And from what I am to understand, it must increase tenfold if I am to join in the masquerade.”

Minako seems very amused at this. “And why, sir, do you suppose a Lady such as myself would know of these things?”

Yuuri freezes. Fool!, he thinks frantically.

“I-I-I meant no disrespect, my Lady, I only thought to ask because you instruct-”

“Relax, Yuuri,” Minako laughs, “you aren’t wrong. I’m well versed in all sorts of dancing. You see,” she says, giving him a somewhat mischievous smile, “I arrived to this castle as part of the festival. I was of a troupe of performers, and as such I had a number of dances in my repertoire. In fact, I danced as part of the masquerade as well.”

Yuuri’s jaw has nearly hit the ground. “ _Y-you_ , my Lady? In a- in a troupe of dancers?”

“Yes. When the King and Queen saw me dance, and saw my wide range of skill, they wanted me immediately. I was given my Ladyship by the grace of the King and Queen themselves, and I have been here ever since.” She winks at him. “I’m most certain that I can assist.”

==========

Viktor surprises both boys when they enter the ballroom one day. The festival is just a fortnight away, and they had both been instructed to begin arriving together so that they may coordinate their fighting. Viktor can tell that they had been expecting Lady Minako, and she’s certainly there, but he stands beside her today, beaming at them as usual.

“Your costumes,” he announces grandly, “have been completed! You’ll try them on now, and begin your training. Let the Lady know at once if any part of your clothing impedes your movement, and she’ll alert the seamstresses straight away.”

He claps his hands together in excitement, rubbing them together. “Well! Come now, try them on!

Yuuri and Yura exchange glances.

“Er, right this moment, Ser?” Yuuri asks hesitantly.

“Yes,” Viktor says sweetly, “I’d like to approve of them first.”

Soon the boys are behind their changing partitions, struggling into their clothing, with Lady Minako assisting them.

“Oh, don’t be so embarrassed,” she chastises them, “I’ve seen a lot more than two skinny lads, so I’m not very impressed. Come now, I believe this bit goes here--or, er, here? My, how bizarre... And this bit of armor, I suppose it goes here? Come, let me comb your hair, boy. Sit still!”

Viktor taps his foot impatiently, and soon Yura emerges, and he grins. The boy looks elegant in his silver and glittering scale armor. It’s expertly crafted, twisting into the shape of something resembling wings at the shoulders. The armor, laid over a white leather jerkin, hangs in ribbons resembling a skirt, and beneath the jerkin he’s wearing a tight-fitting silk chemise, with long sleeves that bunch and tighten at the wrists, covered by silver gauntlets. His long blonde hair is braided and tied back with a white silk ribbon, and a sparkling silver circlet lays upon his head, encrusted in white diamonds. His hose is white striped with a silvery looking fabric, footed with leather soles. He looks rather like a disgruntled angel.

“My, my!” Viktor says cheerfully. “Aren’t you the charming and dashing Prince? Truly the pinnacle of innocent youth!”

Yura scowls, but then surprises him.

“Thank you, Ser.”

Begrudging but sincere. Viktor can’t help but beam at him. The boy has come a long way, and perhaps one day he may even smile. Viktor would have given him a friendly pat on the shoulder had the boy’s armor not looked as though it might stab him. And he’d most likely murder him if he ruffled his perfect hair. As the Prince grabs his sword and steps off to practice his swings, Yuuri emerges, and Viktor’s heart stops.

Yuuri is shifting a bit uncomfortably, and Viktor doesn’t blame him. His hair has been pushed back, combed and oiled so that it shines. A very sheer black veil covers the lower part of his face, and the eyes above are lined in kohl. He’s wearing a shirt--if it can even be called such--made of black rope netting, tightly covering him from throat to hip, with sleeves of the same material, complete with elbow-length black leather gauntlets. Black and red dyed leather pauldrons adorned with crystal shards sit atop his shoulders, held together with tight straps that cross above his chest. Plumed feathers of black and red lay across the back of the pauldrons, forming smooth wings that curl against his back. A tight black leather belt is tied about his hips, a black ruffled skirt lined with red attached, slanted to one side. His leather soled hose is solid black, though the near-lack of skirt leaves the crotch opening exposed so that tight fitting red silk breeches show underneath, leaving very little to the imagination. His ensemble manages to cover all but conceal nothing.

Viktor gapes at him. Yuuri squirms. Minako clears her throat loudly.

“Oh!” Viktor snaps out of his haze of _very_ inappropriate thoughts. “Er, yes. Well done, Yuuri. I mean, that is- you look excellent.” He winks at him, attempting to regain his composure. “You may win my kiss after all.”

Yuuri blushes brightly, and Viktor tries not to melt. Yura rolls his eyes.

==========

Yuuri fidgets again, trying to adjust his skirt. It hangs from his right hip, and he feels as though it keeps slipping, although it’s probably just his imagination. He’s balking at the thought of the entire kingdom seeing him in an outfit like this. He’s far too exposed.

Yura looks splendid in his light and shining scale, his hair tied up in a silk ribbon. Very regal.

They take their positions, and Viktor turns to leave.

“Well, I’d rather your performance be a surprise to me, so I’ll take my leave. Lady Minako, make sure they put real effort into this! The entire kingdom is waiting!” He winks as he exits.

Yuuri’s heart had been racing the entire time Ser Viktor had been in the room. When he had stepped out in his costume, the knight had seemed thunderstruck, and Yuuri had felt his eyes roving over his body, devouring him. It had sent shivers down his spine. He takes a moment to consider this. It had felt... good? Yes, good. He feels as though he’ll do a good job in his attempt to seduce the knight with his performance.

He turns his thoughts back to Yura. He’s never seen his Anteros before, and he’s anxious to see how they’ll work together.

Yura is graceful, moving lightly, airy gestures, nearly floating. His hold on his sword is firm but somehow gentle, guiding it through with precision. Yuuri meets him with steps just as light, but moving and twisting like a snake, or a cat about to pounce. He brings his sword around to slash at Yura, and rolls his hips in what he hopes is a seductive way, sidestepping one of the Prince’s blows and running his hand down his chest. The Prince sort of side eyes him, looking somewhat flustered. Yuuri bites back a laugh. Perhaps he’ll seduce the entire kingdom!

==========

“Festival should be starting this week, eh?”

Viktor tears his eyes from where Yuuri is, down the length of the banquet hall table, to turn back to Ser Christophe.

“Well,” Ser Georgi muses, “it all depends on the moon. But it looks as though it may, yes.”

Viktor sighs, and Ser Celestino claps him on the shoulder. “No worries, Ser! The sword dance happens mid-week, does it not? Your boys have plenty of time!”

Viktor nods, but his thoughts are racing. Are they ready? Can they truly perform before the entire kingdom? He feels a pang of guilt, knowing that it had been his choice and his fault that they’d be out there, fighting before the crowds. No, he tells himself, I have faith in them. They’ve shown massive improvement in both fighting and dancing, and most importantly, they’ve shown massive improvement with each other. 

Chemistry is the key point to their dance, and the boys had certainly grown closer. How close, he can’t quite tell. The Prince is as abrasive as he’s always been, but Viktor quietly observes him, and the boy is kinder to Yuuri. In his own way, at least. Viktor had once arrived at practice to find the two of them suddenly trying to stifle their laughter as he entered. Viktor had wondered if it had been at his expense. Most likely. He didn’t mind, because he’d never seen the Prince look so amused, and he thought that Yuuri must have the heart and soul of a saint, to put aside their past for the sake of their future.

Yuuri. The transformation had been incredible. He’s so much more sure, more confident, more skilled. He’s come a long way from the frightened and clumsy boy he’d caught in the storeroom so many months ago. Viktor had known from the very beginning that he could do so much better. That he could shine. Yes, he’d shine. Like his eyes. Eyes that Viktor had often found straying towards him, lingering, unabashed. Viktor never knew what to do in those moments except stare back like an animal in a snare, captivated by those eyes.

Yes, Yuuri must have the heart of a saint.

He brushes aside the sudden surge of emotions rising inside of him. That isn’t the focus as of now. The Festival. The fight. The dance.

He takes a deep breath. It’s just his nerves. Yes, his nerves. That’s all.

He looks down the table at Yuuri again. Yes, he thinks, that’s all.

==========

The festival is nearly here, and after a rather intense training session, Yuuri is ready to take a much needed seat in the banquet hall to gorge himself until he passes out. To his surprise, Yura pulls him aside after they’ve been dismissed.

“Er, yes? Are you well, Yura?”

Yura looks shaken, anxious, and Yuuri is absolutely baffled to see him this way.

“I’ve been trying to understand Anteros,” he begins after a deep breath, “and so far I’ve come to accept the love for my kin, and I, er, acknowledge you as a friend, _I suppose._ ” Yuuri has to suppress a grin at this. He and Yura had been getting on rather well these past few months. Yuuri still hasn’t taken back his words on not forgiving him, and he probably never will. But everyone deserves a second chance. The Prince had stared at him in disbelief when he had shared that view. Yuuri hopes that Yura will understand someday.

“Well, yes, I acknowledge you as well,” Yuuri says. “There it is, then. A requited love.”

“That’s not it,” the Prince hisses, and after looking about him wildly to ensure no one was around, he leans closer. “I mean, what of other kinds of love?”

“I... er, as in lovers? That sort of love?”

Yura’s face is flushed, and his green eyes are boring into Yuuri’s soul.

“Yes. How do I know what sort of love that is?”

Yuuri doesn’t understand it much either. “Well, if you care for someone deeply, and you want to spend time with them, and the sight of them makes you happy... and you can’t imagine your life without them,” his voice is soft now, his gaze elsewhere. “If you feel that way for someone, then I suppose that’s love, isn’t it?”

Yura frowns a bit, but he looks thoughtful. “I see. And to know that your love is returned? How does... how do I...”

“Well, I suppose you’d have to tell them in order to find out,” Yuuri says simply. Yura pales. What Yuuri says next makes the color rush back into his face all at once.

“Is it Squire Otabek?”

“ _WHAT?”_ Yura hisses at him. _“Y-you-- HOW?”_

Yuuri stands his ground. “Well, you two get along well. You seem to react strongly whenever anyone speaks of him. And he,” Yuuri pauses for a moment, and Yura glares at him impatiently. “I’m not certain, but he reacts in an odd way when you’re mentioned as well. And one day, he sort of asked whether or not love can exist between a squire and a knight, or a noble, or...” he trails off, and Yura grabs him, shaking him.

“ _Or?_ ”

“Er, a Royal, perhaps?”

He feels Yura trembling, and he gently takes his hands from where they’ve been clutching him. “Yura, you can tell me anything. Please, my friend.”

Yura flushes at this, scowling, but it slips from his face. After a pause he says, “Yes. Squire Otabek. I think I may... I-I might...” he trails off, and Yuuri supposes he might have to draw the answers out of him.

“When did the two of you begin speaking on such friendly terms?”

“My nameday banquet,” Yura says softly. “We drank and spoke the entire night.”

Yuuri doesn’t remember that night very well, or at all, although he feels something odd, as though he recalls something that slips through his fingertips before he can grasp it.

“And you continued to speak after that?”

“Yes. I would visit Georgi in order to see him. No one would question the Prince visiting his own half-brother. And I’d-er, well, Otabek and I would--that is, in his room,” his face reddens, and he suddenly adds very quickly, “it wasn’t anything like that! We would... speak. He’s the only person who has ever enjoyed my company,” he says softly, looking away.

“And you love him?” Yuuri asks, very gently.

Yura is silent. Finally, he nods. “I-I don’t understand what it means to love, but if I did, I would say for certain that I love Squire Otabek. I am... afraid,” he hesitates, as though he were loathe to admit that he feels fear at all. “Afraid that he might... that he doesn’t...”

“As I said, the only way to know is to ask. You’re the Prince, surely you’re fearless in all things, yes?”

A fierce determination burns in Yura’s eyes as he nods and excuses himself, leaving Yuuri to finally continue his way down the corridor.

Yuuri feels an odd emotion rising within, and his own words echo back to him.

_‘I suppose that’s love, isn’t it?’_

He enters the banquet hall now, and as he makes his way towards the other squires, his eyes meet Ser Viktor’s.

_'Isn’t it?'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Costume references:  
> http://yuripaws.tumblr.com/image/160531830486


	16. Gay Knight 16: The Beach Episode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D R A M A [frog emoji] [tea emoji]

The moon rises the next night, red as blood and looming over them all. Travelers far and wide arrive, making their way through the castle gates, offering tribute after tribute to the King and Queen; casks of the kingdom’s finest wine and mead, chests of gleaming gold and glittering stones, expertly forged swords and fine and shining armor, and exotic goods from lands far and unknown. 

Troupes of entertainers begin setting up near the tourney grounds, where the performances will take place. Graceful and lithe dancers practice routines, gliding as though on thin air, and the air itself thick with a cacophony of lutes and lyres, of fiddles and drums, of foreign and sensual music, slithering and wild. Voices ringing out like delicate crystal bells, bellowed and rowdy drinking songs, dramatic poems recited with grand flourishes. Acrobats have already started cartwheeling and somersaulting through the festival grounds, flipping and stretching, faces painted and outlandish.

Above the roaring din, a herald’s trumpet blasts, and the festival has officially begun.

Yuuri makes his way through the crowds, narrowly avoiding being stepped on for the hundredth time, and he takes in the sights all around him. Torches and lanterns and campfires are spread throughout the castle grounds so that everything is cast in a warm glow, and the play of light and shadow gives the impression of mystery and excitement. Yuuri can hardly hear his own thoughts over the laughter and shouting, but he doesn’t mind. Tonight isn’t meant for thoughts. Only actions. Only wild abandon. 

The bustle of the festival reminds Yuuri of the city, of the marketplaces, and he sees familiar faces, friendly and warm. He feels a sense of belonging, of fearlessness, and his worries melt away as he begins to feel a new sort of appreciation for this festival. His eyes and mind have been opened, at long last, and he vows to enjoy the festival to its fullest this year.

He makes his way towards a group of his fellow and rather tipsy squires, where they’re cheering on practicing jugglers and acrobats, raising their tankards in a toast. They cheer again as they see Yuuri approach, toasting to him instead.

“Yuuri!” Squire Phichit is already flushed, and Yuuri wonders if the tankard he’s holding is his second or his sixth. The boy procures another one, though from where, Yuuri can’t imagine, but he doesn’t question it, downing it as the others shout and hoot and egg him on. It feels almost familiar. He grins, wipes his mouth, and grabs for another tankard amid the cheering, feeling friendly and encouraging claps on his back. The festival! Yes, he would live it to its fullest. No missed opportunities and no regrets.

The feast later that night is sumptuous; the food plentiful and the wine sweet and ever-flowing. Yuuri gazes around the banquet hall and sees the noticeable difference between this and the Prince’s nameday banquet. He remembers sitting alone, afraid of all the chaos, unable to approach anyone--especially Ser Viktor. He remembers watching him toast and cheer from afar in his corner, drinking miserably and praying that one day the knight's warm smile and laughing eyes would be turned upon him. Yuuri smiles quietly to himself now, because his prayers had been answered. His face flushes, and he downs another goblet of wine.

Yes, the banquet hall tonight is different. The chaos is somehow contained, warped into something sophisticated but no less wild. And Yuuri isn’t afraid anymore.

He and the squires are toasting again, although to what, Yuuri isn’t certain. His goblet of wine has been refilled more times than he can remember, and at this point he’ll toast to the King’s horse if it means another round of drinks. 

He’s never felt this exhilarated before, but as he grabs for another roast fowl, he has a sobering moment. He thinks of the cooks and bakers, of Yuko and Takeshi, and he silently thanks them for their hard work. He may have to visit the kitchens sometime this week. He’ll bring them anything they wish, as it’s the least he can do to repay them for their kindness throughout his time as a servant. He ought to visit Mari as well, and anyone else who had been a friend to him. Ser Viktor had been right; he mustn’t let his status make him feel as though he’s better than them.

As the feast finally ends and the festival’s events come to a close, Yuuri picks his way through the exiting crowd, looking for his knight. The end of the any noble event generally marks the end of the night, though there really isn’t any actual and official ending. The troupes may have finished their performances in the arena, but he sees some scattered throughout the castle grounds, playing instruments and singing for small crowds. He can see quite a few people still dancing around campfires, drunk and shouting. 

All who come to the festival are allowed to make camp on the spacious grassy fields within the walls of the castle. As such, the festival never really ends. People simply pass out whenever they finish gallivanting, waking up the next evening to continue.

But it’s definitely time for Yuuri to retire, and as he spots Ser Viktor he bids his fellow squires good night and heads towards him. The knight looks rather weary, but smiles at him as he approaches.

“Ah, Yuuri. Enjoying the festival this year?”

“Yes!” Yuuri is a bit tipsy, and a bit too loud as a result. “I haven’t seen you much this night, Ser!”

“I’ve been, ah, assisting in opening ceremonies and such, being in attendance for the meeting of Royals and nobles and foreign emissaries, standing by as they offer endless tribute, that sort of boring thing.” He smiles at him again, but there’s something odd in his expression. Yuuri thinks he looks a bit sad, and when one is sad they ought to receive hugs, and so he throws his arms about the knight, looking up at him happily. He feels a bit dizzy, and hopes that he doesn’t fall over.

But to his surprise and disappointment, Ser Viktor doesn’t look very happy in return, and Yuuri releases his hold. “I-um, sorry, Ser,” he hiccups slightly. He may be a little more drunk than he had thought.

“No,” the knight says softly, “you’ve done nothing wrong. Please, try not to-” he hesitates, then shakes his head. “No, never mind that. Enjoy yourself as much as you can this week, alright?”

“Alright!”

==========

There’s a ball two nights later, and the two of them arrive, looking resplendent in their fine Royal garb; their doublets richly embroidered, their surcoats bearing the King’s device and their House crest, and Ser Viktor in the impressive gold cloak that marks him as High Commander. The ball is the most formal of the events, the sort where nobles meet and establish connections, especially with foreigners.

The other knights are already there with their squires, and Viktor turns as Christophe approaches him. As a Knight of the Royal Guard, he’s dressed just as richly, though his cloak is silver. Georgi accompanies him, and his cloak is the color of bronze. The remaining knights wear cloaks of white, and they all look magnificent amid the crowds of dancing Lords and Ladies, and Viktor can see some glancing towards them, whispering behind their delicate fans.

“Well, my friend!” Christophe raises his finely-made silver goblet at him. “You’ve arrived at last!”

Viktor merely smiles at this, and notices Yuuri growing uncomfortable beside him. They had been late because Yuuri had yet again had too much to drink the night before, and had difficulty dressing both himself and his knight.

“We’re here, and that’s all that really matters.” He raises his own and winks.

As time passes, Viktor grows bored. He generally finds these sorts of formal events rather dull, as the nobles tend to be rather dull themselves. He’s whisked away from group to group, each trying to gain his favor, approaching to chat at him inanely. He’s been receiving lingering looks and subtle propositions all night, and he pretends not to notice. He’s completely uninterested. Especially now.

But occasionally he does find someone decent enough to hold his attention. He and Ser Mila are in a deep discussion with a respectable Lord when Viktor’s gaze strays and he freezes.

Yuuri is dancing with a fine young Lady, and although he looks as though he had been dragged into doing so, he seems to be enjoying it. His dancing has certainly improved, at any rate. But the young Lady is far too close, and as she leans her head forward, Viktor feels a sharp nudge in his side, forcing him to return his attention to the Lord that is speaking to him. Ser Mila nudges him once more, and Viktor realizes that he should probably answer the man’s question.

His heart is pounding as they finally move on. Ser Mila excuses herself as she leaves to dance with Ser Sara, and for a moment Viktor finds himself alone.

He scans the ballroom frantically until his eyes finally find the boy, and his stomach drops as he sees him off to one side, in a slightly more secluded area, being engaged in conversation with a strikingly handsome young Lord. The young Lady is nowhere to be found, but at this moment Viktor might have preferred her, as this Lord is standing even closer to Yuuri than she had been. Yuuri is blushing profusely, but hasn’t moved away, and Viktor has only the briefest of moments to watch as the Lord’s arm snakes around his squire, _his_ squire, before some tiresome group flocks towards him, demanding his attention and obscuring his view.

Ser Christophe must have sensed his discomfort from across the room, as good friends do, and he soon arrives to rescue him from their fawning and squawking. Christophe frowns at him as he draws him away.

“Are you well, Ser?”

Viktor is shaking, though with fear or rage he cannot tell. Perhaps both. He scans the room once more and Yuuri is gone.

“Where is Yuuri?” He tries and fails to keep the desperation out of his voice.

Christophe frowns again. “I saw him leave just a moment ago. The squires didn’t recognize the young man he was with. I thought it odd, so I went to seek you ou-”

Viktor is already gone, making his way towards the doors, and there must be something in his expression because no one dares approach him.

He bursts out of the doors and into the corridors, looking this way and that, and after a small internal struggle, he takes a chance and heads down one of them. His heart is beating faster than it ever has before.

His intuition is spot on, and as he rounds the corner he sees them, in plain view, and this young Lord has _his_ squire pressed against the wall, and this young Lord has his arms around _his_ squire’s waist, and this young Lord has his lips against _his_ squire’s own, kissing him deeply, his lips then moving down towards Yuuri’s neck, and as his hips roll forward Yuuri moans, _that moan,_ the one that haunts him, the one he dreams of, _**HIS MOAN.**_

He sees through a haze of trembling red, and suddenly he’s got his hands about the Lord’s throat, and he hears Yuuri gasp, and hears the Lord struggling and trying to breathe. Viktor throws him to the ground, snarling at him to _unhand his squire and leave at once._ The Lord doesn’t need to be told twice, and he scrambles away in a blind panic.

Viktor is breathing heavily, still trembling, and realizes that Yuuri is staring at him, trembling as well. Viktor’s heart drops immediately.

“I-I- Yuuri, I,” he stammers, shaking, “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t- I should have-”

“Ser,” Yuuri says softly, and Viktor can hear the drink in the boy’s words, and smell it on his breath, on his clothing. “I’m... I didn’t mean to...”

“How much have you been drinking? Are you alright? Did the young Lord accost you? Please, Yuuri, tell me.”

Yuuri is trembling again, and to Viktor’s horror, he sees tears welling in his eyes. “Ser, I’m sorry, I’ve drank too much again, haven’t I? Have I been... I didn’t mean... I shouldn’t have drank so much, I don’t want to keep doing foolish things. I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

“You’re not a fool, Yuuri. You never are. I’m... I’m concerned for you, yes, and I worry about your drinking, yes. But I want you to enjoy this festival to its fullest, and if that involves drinking, an-and,” he falters, trying not to think of other ways the boy might enjoy himself, “I just want you to be happy, Yuuri.” He looks away, because the sight of Yuuri’s tears is too much to bear.

“I’m selfish,” he blurts out. He takes a steadying breath. “Yes, I’m selfish. I’ve been that way since the very start. I’m putting my own needs above yours. I’m... I’m letting my jealousy-I... I’m the fool, Yuuri. I’m sorry.”

Yuuri is silent, and Viktor still can’t bring himself to look back at him. But the boy finally speaks.

“Jealousy, Ser?”

Viktor freezes, and when he at last turns to face him, he sees that Yuuri is staring at him with an intent look shining in his dark eyes that oft precedes something unpredictable.

“Yes,” Viktor whispers, although he doesn’t know why. Yuuri steps towards him without warning, and Viktor will never know what he had intended to do, because the sound of a large and boisterous crowd approaching means that the ball is over.

Back in their chambers, Viktor assists a drunk and stumbling Yuuri to his bed as he had the night before, and prays that he rests well. His performance is tomorrow.

==========

Yuuri groans as he wakes, rubbing his eyes and cursing the sun. His head is throbbing, but not as badly as it had the night before, thank the gods. He sighs and rolls over, telling himself that he’ll only be in bed for five more minutes.

He must be gaining more of a tolerance for drinking, because he can remember the ball last night fairly clearly. He isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not.

He remembers entering the ballroom, looking grand among all the Lords and Ladies, but not as grand as his knight, as Ser Viktor, as the High Commander. His shining silvery hair coiffed, his cloak billowing, his head held high, he had been the immediate center of attention. By extension, Yuuri had felt eyes on himself as well, and had tried to keep his head held just as high. Viktor had been quickly swept away, nobles vying for his attention, and Yuuri suddenly felt rather alone, although the other knights and their squires were nearby.

He’d had a goblet or two or more of wine as the time had passed, and, with urging from the other squires, he had accepted the request to dance offered by a very pretty young Lady. His lessons had paid off well, and he felt much more sure of himself. For a moment he had caught sight of Ser Viktor engaged in conversation with Ser Mila and a Lord he didn’t know. He had also caught sight of the surrounding nobles, and the way they looked at his knight, _his_ knight, made it clear that Viktor’s title wasn’t the only thing they were interested in.

He had brought his attention back to the Lady in his arms, but she had taken notice of his longing gaze. She leaned in towards him, very close, and Yuuri had felt himself blushing, as she had smelled of sweet perfume, and her eyes had been so beautiful, her bodice tight and hard to look away from.

“Sir,” she had whispered so sweetly, “you needn't worry. I believe your knight only has eyes for one person in this room.” Yuuri hadn’t really known what she had meant, but she had leaned forward again, her lips brushing his cheek, and for some odd reason he had found himself laughing, the young Lady laughing as well, and he remembers how lovely they had danced together.

He had bid her farewell as another asked for her hand. She blew him a kiss, and Yuuri had laughed and done the same.

Yuuri soon found himself alone, but not for long, as a Lord had stepped towards him, interrupting his attempt to spot his knight in the crowd.

“Squire Yuuri Katsuki,” the man had drawled, “what an honor to see you again in all your splendid glory.” 

Yuuri had stared at him, at this breathtakingly handsome man, and with a start had realized that this was one of the young Lords he had waited upon during his months as a servant. The Lord stepped closer, but for a fraction of a second Yuuri had spotted Viktor over the man’s shoulder. He had just bid Ser Mila farewell as she and Ser Sara left to dance, and was alone now, but Yuuri could see the nobles that surrounded him hungrily, ready to pounce. He had felt a strange stab of jealously, of possessiveness, but the Lord was even closer now, and Yuuri had stared up into eyes that were blue, so very blue. His face had reddened immediately, but he stood fixed, mesmerized by his eyes, his blue eyes, and when the young man slipped an arm about him, he didn’t protest.

“My, my,” the Lord murmured, “you certainly have changed since last I saw you. I would have never guessed. You look stunning tonight, sir.” 

“T-thank you, my Lord,” Yuuri stuttered, and something in the man’s eyes had flickered.

“I always did like the way you said that,” he purred, and he had cupped Yuuri’s face, his thumb brushing his lips. “It sounds even sweeter now, to hear my title on these lips.”

Soon Yuuri had found himself rushing out of the ballroom, and through his somewhat drunken haze, had seen a few of his fellow squires eyeing him in surprise.

In fact, Yuuri had not even realized how much he had drank until the Lord had him pinned against the wall, because the room had started spinning, and when the man had grabbed his waist, Yuuri had looked up into blue eyes, his blue eyes, and when the Lord kissed him he returned it with vigor, running his fingers through the hair he had dreamed of, feeling the lips he had dreamed of against his, and it was Viktor who had him pressed against the wall, Viktor whose lips now nipped and kissed and sucked at his neck, Viktor’s hips that ground forward into his own, and as he moaned, he felt the knight’s grasp loosen, felt him torn away, and Viktor stood before him, and Yuuri had realized that _this_ was Viktor, not the Lord who had scrambled away, and he had looked up into his eyes, his blue eyes.

‘Jealousy.’

The word had rung in his ears, over and over, ever since. Jealousy. What did it mean? Don’t be a fool, he thinks to himself, you know exactly what it means. What other meaning could there be?

He looks at his hand, at his finger, at the gold ring gleaming in the sunlight.

‘Jealousy,’ he thinks, and he finally rises to prepare himself for his performance.


	17. Gay Knights 17: Gay And Shooketh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sword dance! Here we go~  
> Here's some Eros Yuuri!  
> http://yuripaws.tumblr.com/post/161038743956/

Idiot, fool, what were you _thinking?_

Viktor has heard this in an endless loop for hours now, eating away at his sanity. No matter how hard he tries to tear his mind away from what had happened the night before, he can't. He can’t tear his mind away from the sight of Yuuri running his fingers through another man’s hair as they kissed. He can't tear his mind away from the sound of Yuuri moaning as another man’s hips ground into his own. That moan. Viktor has been haunted by that moan, that sweet sound of pleasure, the sound that _he_ had brought forth, not some upstart young foolish Lord. A Lord that had no right to lay hands on _his_ squire.

‘Selfish.’

He shakes his head, trying to shake away his thoughts with it. When Yuuri enters his chambers to dress them both, Viktor can barely keep eye contact. The boy looks just as uncomfortable. The tension between them is thick, and Viktor wishes he could slice through it with his blade.

He wants to say something, wants to apologize once more, but his words are stuck in his throat. Yuuri is trembling, looking worn and scared, and Viktor hopes that he’s fretting about his fight instead of him. He kicks himself for that selfish thought, because he doesn’t want Yuuri to be nervous. He doesn’t want Yuuri to be scared. He wants him to fight like he’s never fought before. He wants to see him shine, and he wants the entire kingdom to see it as well. And most important of all, he wants Yuuri to see _himself_ shine. He hopes the boy will one day give himself the credit he deserves.

They head down the corridor, making their way to the arena, and Viktor can almost feel Yuuri tense up beside him. He touches his shoulder lightly and tries not to feel too hurt as the boy jumps and jerks away slightly.

“I’m proud of you, Yuuri. I know you’ll fight perfectly. Nothing can possibly go wrong.”

If this makes Yuuri less anxious, it doesn’t particularly show very well. He swallows hard and nods absently, and Viktor wonders if the boy had even registered his words.

They soon arrive, making their way through the crowds. The sunny afternoon is slowly fading to a glowing evening, and Viktor can see the faint red of the moon looming above. He says a small prayer in his mind to the gods, to the moon itself, to anything listening. Please, grant Yuuri the strength he needs. Not in battle, but in his heart.

As they approach and are close enough to get a glimpse of the stands, Viktor sees Yuuri freeze, sees the panic in his eyes at the sheer magnitude of the crowd, at the sound of them roaring. The crowd is much bigger than the one the boy had fought before in the Squire’s Tourney, and much rowdier. Viktor can hear jeering among the cheers, and supposes that the lot of them are already piss drunk.

As Viktor leads Yuuri around the back of the arena to where the troupes prepare their acts, their outfits, and their cosmetics, another roar erupts from the crowd. The melee must be happening, Viktor thinks. It’s a mock melee of course, for entertainment, and the combatants must be doing their job well. He can hear the herald's trumpet blast on occasion, marking the beginning and ending of each round. Yuuri starts slightly every time it does.

Viktor casts about the area, looking for Lady Minako and Prince Yura, but suddenly hears a shuddering gasp, and looks to find Yuuri breathing heavily, eyes wide, his body trembling uncontrollably. Viktor places a hand on his shoulder again, alarmed.

“Yuuri?”

The boy is despondent and unresponsive, so Viktor tries again, trying not to let his rising panic show.

“Yuuri, don’t listen to the crowds. Half of them are too drunk to even stand. You’ve been doing perfectly well in practice, haven’t you? I have the utmost faith that you won't fail.”

He sees the dark circles beneath the boy’s eyes, and he knows that he hasn’t been sleeping well. He knows the nights of drinking have taken their toll on him. He curses himself for not trying hard enough to protect his health throughout the festival. Viktor calls to him again, but to no avail. He has no idea what to say to get a response out of the boy.

Viktor considers the possibilities. If reassurance and praise hadn't worked, perhaps something different would spur him into action. After all, Yuuri would fight fiercely if he had something to fight for, wouldn’t he? Perhaps if he had something to lose?

“Yuuri,” Viktor says firmly, only vaguely registering that something in his head is screaming at him, “if you fail to entertain the crowd with your performance today, I’ll have no choice but to end your service to me as my squire.”

There’s a moment of silence in which Viktor finally notices that his mind has been screaming, _idiot, fool, IDIOT,_ since the moment he had opened his mouth. He doesn’t have much time to reflect upon that, as Yuuri has locked eyes with him, and for a moment they stare at one another, and Viktor is frozen on the spot ( _fool, idiot),_ and Yuuri’s warm brown eyes are full of tears now, and Viktor is screaming internally _(FOOL)_ , and Yuuri finally speaks.

“Why would you say that, Ser?” he whispers, the tears falling at last and running down his cheeks, and Viktor wants to run as well, run away to a place where he can no longer feel the fire in Yuuri’s gaze.

“Why would you say that,” the boy repeats, his voice wavering, “as though you’re trying to test me? Are you trying to frighten me, Ser? Why would you say that to me?”

Do something, _do something._

“I-Yuuri, I only-”

“Do you think I am only worried about myself, Ser?” his voice is louder now, still shuddering, but Viktor can hear an underlying steel. “Do you think _that_ is why I’m panicking, Ser?” Viktor can’t do anything but stare, and the boy continues, his eyes still burning. “I’m to stand before the largest crowd I have ever seen, a crowd of citizens, of soldiers and knights, of nobles, of Lord and Ladies, of actors and entertainers themselves, and perform against the Prince, the Prince who has defeated me before, the Prince whose victory had meant my demise, and I must perform before the kingdom--a kingdom that _knows_ who I am, and who I was, a kingdom that knows of my former disgrace.”

The boy is trembling still, though this time there is rage as well as fear. Viktor’s mind is reeling, and he tries diffuse the situation as best as he can.

“It was merely a jest, Yuuri. I would never do such a thing. I only wanted to motivate you. How shall I do so now? Perhaps my promise of earning my kiss-”

 _ **“THAT’S NOT WHAT I WANT!”**_ Yuuri is shouting at him now, drawing looks from those around them. “Don’t you understand? You have taken me as your squire, as you have done for no other, as you have nearly _abandoned your Prince for,_ and you have taken me as I was--as a servant, as filth, as nothing, and you have trained me day after day for months, and for what? For me to balk, for me to fall, for me to fail before the kingdom? This may be a mock-duel, a fight to entertain, but it still reflects upon the training you have given me thus far. What will they say of you, Ser? The great Ser Viktor Nikiforov, High Commander, having thrown his life away for a squire who has proven that all his time was for naught? I don’t fear for myself, Ser, but for _you._ Threats or promises mean nothing, all I ask is that you stand by me, Ser, and have faith in me!”

Viktor is absolutely thunderstruck. Those surrounding have looked away, have even retreated a bit, as though to leave them to their business. Yuuri is panting, still shaking, and his eyes have not left Viktor’s once. Viktor can nearly hear his heart beat.

“Yes,” Viktor finally says, softly, “I will stand by you. I will not leave your side.”

Lady Minako and Prince Yura find them at last, and as Yuuri makes his way to them, Viktor says another prayer.

==========

Yuuri is having the straps on his pauldrons tightened by Lady Minako, and he tries not to fidget. He keeps adjusting his skirt, feeling as though it were slipping, but at this point he thinks that he's only doing so to stop his hands from trembling. The veil covering his nose and mouth is irritating, but he’s grateful that it keeps out the dust. Yura is nearly ready as well, having his circlet clipped neatly to his hair to keep it in place. Yuuri is surprised to see the Prince looking rather pleased. It’s a change from his usual scowling.

“Nervous, Yura?”

The Prince laughs, and Yuuri gapes. “No, not at all. Well, maybe slightly. But no, not really.” He smiles to himself and it’s a quiet smile, a secret smile.

“Have you told Squire Otabek how you feel?”

Yura’s face is bright red, but the scowl he’s attempting falls flat. “Well, if you _must_ know,” he says loftily, “yes, I have.”

“And his feelings?”

Yura is smiling that same smile, and he nods. “Yes,” he says softly, not exactly answering Yuuri’s question, but Yuuri understands completely, and he can't help but smile as well.

The Prince still has much to learn about love--about family, about friendship, about romance. About his people. But Yuuri can see him start to shine bright, and he knows that he's well on his way on his quest for Anteros. With enough time, he may even complete it. Yuuri is eager to see that happen.

Yuuri frowns at himself now. Does he truly understand Eros? He thinks so. He recalls his lessons, his improvement, and his special sessions with Lady Minako--the dancing that she has taught him for the masquerade. He closes his eyes as his nerves start to melt away, and he feels much like a seductress, like a cat ready to hunt down its prey. It’s a feeling that sends shivers down his spine. His mind fills with the sort of thoughts he normally pushes away, but he lets them come now; the feeling of strong hands, of soft lips, the desperate press of bodies, gasps and moans and something hard filling him, something releasing, wet and dripping, and blue eyes, so very blue, and he lets out a shuddering exhale. Yes, he's ready.

And, he thinks rather wickedly, he would love to see the look on Ser Viktor’s face when he seduces him in front of the entire kingdom.

The crowds roar a sound like a battle-cry as Yuuri and Yura ride out, mounted on their horses for their customary lap around the arena. The spectators are shouting their names, screaming and cheering them on, and Yuuri is surprised to actually hear people cheering for him. He starts to feel the last bits of his doubts chip away.

They ride to the center of the arena, circling each other as the sound of their names grows louder from the crowds. They dismount as finely dressed grooms come forth to lead their horses away, and Yuuri receives a small shock when he sees Mari approach. She pats Vicchan's side as Yuuri hands her the reins.

"I'll take good care of him," she whispers with a wink, and Yuuri's heart swells as he watches them go. He suddenly realizes that he has more support than he had ever thought. Are Yuko and Takeshi watching? Phichit and his fellow squires, and their knights? Of course they are, lost among the crowds and shouting for him. Yuuri vows to make them proud. He thinks of Ser Viktor.

He and the Prince now take their places, stepping forward to clasp arms as they're announced. Yuuri's hand is steady, his grasp firm and certain, and Yura's green eyes are free of the malice they had once held so many months ago in this very arena. The herald's cry rings throughout the arena as a hush falls over the crowd.

Eros and Anteros--two winged brothers that fight for the heart of a fair maiden. Who will triumph: the god of sinful desire, or the god of pure and requited love?

“Good luck,” the Prince says, smirking.

“Thanks,” Yuuri snorts, “I’ll need it.”

They retreat to their stances, grabbing the hilts of their swords to unsheathe them. With blunted tips and dulled edges, the lightweight swords are more for decoration than practicality, meant to dazzle and impress. Yura’s is a fine and shining silver, and the cross-guards and pommel are as encrusted with white diamonds as the circlet upon his head, and it catches the light of the dying sun as he draws it. Yuuri’s sword is a blade of black, dark as night, curved as sinuously as his body, and the hilt is red as blood, sparkling with rubies that glint like the eyes of a serpent as he draws it.

At the blast of the trumpet, torches are lit around the arena, and the dance begins. Drums beat and rattles shake, but the sounds are lost amid the sound of the crowd, already on their feet and shouting. The two boys circle one another as they had on their horses, drawing closer and closer like preying wolves, and they suddenly spin in unison just within sword's length of each other--Yura graceful and floating, Yuuri quick as the strike of a cat. Their swords clash with a sound that seems to echo throughout the arena, drowned out now by the sound of cheering. Yura's glittering skirt swirls about him as he twirls away with an airy and elegant flourish that leaves the crowd gasping. Yuuri spins away, his own skirt lifting to expose himself, and he moves like a snake, running a hand down his throat to his netted chest in a way that sets the crowd howling.

They clash again and again, innocence again sin, swords and armor and crystals glinting in the torchlight. Yuuri suddenly drops and side rolls to dodge a vicious blow from Yura’s sword, and he arcs his back and thrusts his hips up to get him on his feet again. The crowd is hooting and whistling now, and for a second his eyes catch Viktor’s, so blue, so wide. Yuuri can feel his desire from here, all the way from where the knight is sitting atop Makkachin among the other knights and their horses. He lowers his veil for a second to smirk at him, licking his lips as he turns away to meet another of the Prince’s graceful swings.

Their swords meet, and they hold them there, moving around one another, circling again, circling faster as the crowd roars, and suddenly Yuuri moves, dropping and kicking to sweep Yura’s feet from underneath him. The Prince falls, and Yuuri catches him in one arm, holding him as though he were dipping him, and in such a way that has the crowd hooting again. Yura rises to spin away, shying away as though he were trying to protect his virtue, and Yuuri turns to the crowd, grinning beneath his veil, his arms up in a mock-apologetic way, as if to say, ‘I couldn’t help it!’

This has the crowd in an uproar, screaming his name and stomping their feet, and Yuuri has only a moment to bask in this before he turns to find Yura’s blade narrowly miss him. It's at his throat before he can bring his own blade up, and Yuuri freezes, dropping his sword at his side. He’s brought to one knee now, his head bowed as if he were a depraved criminal being publicly executed. Yura places the sword upon his shoulder, then raises it to strike the fatal blow, and the crowd holds its breath all at once.

Just as his sword nearly finds its mark, sending the crowd into a frenzy, he stops. He instead extends a delicate hand to Yuuri, as if pardoning him of his sins, allowing him to rise, granting him mercy. The crowd gasps, then quiets for a moment to see what the kneeling boy would do. Yuuri takes his hand gently and rises, bringing it under his veil to his lips for a chaste and loving kiss, accepting and requiting his love. The crowd gasps again, and cheers for Yura erupt from the stands, for true love has triumphed!

Not quite, Yuuri thinks, and before Yura registers the wicked grin hovering above his offered hand, Yuuri's grip tightens. He spins the Prince away suddenly, as though they were dancing at a ball, and drops to grab his sword up before the Prince can right himself. Neither of them seem winded as they continue their dance; Yuuri's stamina keeping him steady and Yura's fierce spirit spurring him on.

Yura slashes at him between twirls, and the combined shine of his sword and his scale armor is nearly blinding. Despite this, Yuuri's body seems to move on its own, curving around each swing effortlessly, and he runs his hand across his blade suggestively between swings. The crowd has returned to leering and whistling, but gasps fill the arena when Yuuri’s sword just narrowly catches Yura’s as it strikes down directly in front of his face. A hush falls over the crowd as the boys freeze in their positions, the blunt point of Yura’s blade nearly touching Yuuri’s face. He feels his veil slide down, exposing his mouth.

Yuuri, with a smirk and half-lidded eyes, parts his lips to run his tongue along the dulled edge of the blade as he takes it into his mouth, and crowd absolutely _explodes_.

Yura looks incredibly flustered, spinning away gracefully as they both jerk back, and as the crowd continues to rampage, they know that it's already over. They charge at each other for the final blow, then surprise the crowd by turning abruptly so that their backs meet, swords dropped. Yura raises his hands in delicate prayer, and Yuuri’s arms wrap about himself sensually.

The crowd is on their feet, jumping, shouting, hooting, stomping, absolutely wild and out of control. The herald has them cheer, first for Yura and then for Yuuri, and the applause for Yuuri is so deafening that it sends him reeling, but Yura steadies him.

“Well fought,” the Prince says with a mock-scowl, but Yuuri can see the laughter dancing in his eyes.

“Well fought,” Yuuri returns, panting and grinning.

Mari approaches him once more with Vicchan, ruffling Yuuri's hair as he mounts his horse to take his victory lap around the arena. The crowds in the stands chant his name over and over, and those standing or sitting horseback on the sidelines of the arena cheer, reaching over the low gates to touch his hand as he rides by. Suddenly Yuuri sees him, Viktor, his knight, atop his horse with the another knights, and despite his anger earlier he’s now thrilled as he rides to him, cutting across the arena and passing by all, because now it’s only him and his knight.

Viktor is giving him an odd look, but he’s smiling, and as Yuuri rides towards him he shouts, “Ser! I've done great, haven’t I?”

What happens next is an absolute blur. Gasps fill the arena as Viktor rears his horse and vaults over the gates just as Yuuri nearly reaches him. He lands neatly beside him, Makkachin calm and composed, as a warhorse ought to be, but Vicchan rears, startled, and Yuuri tries to calm him, and when he pulls his horse back down, Viktor’s hand shoots forward, grabbing Yuuri by the leather straps of his pauldrons and yanking him in for a kiss.

There’s a ringing silence, or maybe it’s just Yuuri’s hearing that has stopped, but that can’t be right, because he hears his heart loud and pounding in his ears, and that very same heart is racing so fast that he can’t breathe, and he can't breathe because his lips are on Viktor’s, on _his_ lips, and as the knight pulls away, Yuuri looks into eyes that are blue, so very blue, and so very bright.

“I promised you a kiss from the fair maiden, did I not?” his knight whispers.

Yuuri’s smile is slow and warm.

“Yes. Yes, you did.”


	18. Gay Knights 18: TBH It's Gonna Be Really Fucking Gay Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaand, we're back! I've been working on so much other stuff, but I haven't forgotten this! There's still much more to add!
> 
> I'd like to thank readers both old and new for the wonderful feedback! This fic is my baby. This was my first attempt at writing in about 10 years, and I'm glad it's been received well and I'm glad that I've improved and have been able to move on to more successful projects. But this will always be my first love and I intend to take it all the way home!
> 
> So thank you for sticking by Ser Viktor and Squire Yuuri! I hope the wait was worth the gross amount of fluff and smut I'm about to spew. <3

They’re the absolute talk of the kingdom right now, and Viktor swells with pride every time he sees people glancing, gawping, starstruck and amazed, and when he hears the whispers, the whistles, he grins. He’s never felt more alive in his entire life.

There’s a banquet later that night, and the wine is flowing once more. But this time, Viktor isn’t worried.

He isn’t worried, because he’s been deep in his cups for the past hour, and he isn’t worried because the tables are laden with exotic and delicious foods, and he isn’t worried because right now he’s lost within scores of dancers, of drunken lovers, and his arms are around the boy, _this boy_ , the one he’s been dreaming of, the one he’s been chasing, the one that has cost him his sleep and his sanity, the one that he would give anything in this world to protect. His arms are around him, and the boy is looking up at him, and his smile is shy but warm, so very warm, as warm as his brown eyes that glint gold in the light of the fires, the eyes that have never once left his since the moment he had taken Viktor’s hand and asked him to dance.

He brings that very hand to his lips now, kissing the gold ring, and Viktor feels as though his breath has been stolen away. Stolen by this sweet boy, this wicked boy, the love of his life.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says softly, so that the boy leans forward to hear him, and Viktor catches his lips with his own, and he’s warm, so warm, as warm as the arms wrapped around him, the body pressed against him, and the feel of the boy’s heartbeat against his own is as real as the hand that cups his face so gently, so lovingly. He runs his fingers through the boy’s dark hair, realizing far too late that it had been tied up with an elegant ribbon. He supposes he’s ruined it.  

Viktor can feel the smile on Yuuri’s lips before they draw away, and he’s caught once again in that soft and shy gaze. A gaze that is now teasing; laughing eyes.

“Ser,” he whispers, and Viktor can somehow hear him over the din, over the laughter and music all around them, because right now it’s just the two of them, forever, “how dramatic you are, to kiss me that way before the entire kingdom, and to do so again in the very center of these halls. I’ve got the feeling you’re a bit of an exhibitionist, Ser.”

Viktor laughs, squeezing him gently. “Well, I can’t help myself. Not when it comes to you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri laughs now, and the sound is so sweet to Viktor’s ears that he feels weak in the knees. The boy rests his head on Viktor’s shoulder, and they sway, circling aimlessly, a dance that he wishes would never end.

“Well then,” a voice calls out, breaking their trance, “aren’t you quite the pair of lovebirds?” Ser Christophe is rather drunk, and he claps Viktor on the back, roaring with laughter. Viktor can’t even be upset with him. This man has been his friend for so long–a friend that he has confided in so many times, a friend that has always opened his doors to him and his incessant whining.

“One kiss, and suddenly you’re married, and this is your wedding dance. How very _dramatic_.”

Yuuri shoots Viktor a look, and Viktor tries and fails to repress a loud snort.

“Well, Ser, I do believe I’m a bit of an exhibitionist.”

==========

Yuuri’s mind has been in a whirlwind ever since the arena. Ever since Viktor had so very dramatically pulled him in for a kiss before a crowd of thousands.

This is happening far too fast, escalating far too much, and now he finds himself dancing with the knight, laughing and swaying and exchanging soft kisses, loving kisses. His mind is racing, and he honestly can’t believe that this is even happening; for never in a hundred years would he have ever thought that this dream, this wish, this fantasy would come true.

He hadn’t even known that it had been a wish of his. To stand beside the knight, to serve him, to fight for him--this had been his greatest fantasy. But the more he allows himself to think on it, the more he realizes how foolish he’s been. The knight’s smile, his touch, his voice, his eyes. These have always had a peculiar effect on Yuuri. Eros has taught him exactly why he’s felt such a way, but now there’s a new thing to puzzle over. Something lurking, something overwhelming. Something he longs for but draws away from all at once.

Yuuri’s never been the sort to understand his own emotions, and he tries to get them in order, to figure out exactly what he’s feeling, to give a name to whatever warm and fluttering sensation he always feels in the knight’s presence. Viktor’s lips meet his once more, and he decides that he simply doesn’t care enough to think on it now.

All of the knights and their squires had congratulated them, and to Yuuri’s great surprise and embarrassment, they all seemed as though they had expected this to happen. As though they had been waiting impatiently for it.

Phichit’s smile had been absolutely blinding, and Ser Christophe’s smug grin has been firmly in place all night. Ser Celestino had given him such a fond and fatherly look that Yuuri had gladly welcomed his crushing hug. The Prince had looked sort of disgusted, but his scowl wasn’t quite convincing.

No matter the reaction, no one had seemed very shocked at all. Yuuri wonders now if they had placed wagers on it, and his face reddens at his own obliviousness. He buries his face deep into Viktor’s shoulder, hearing the knight’s soft sound of surprise. He feels warm kisses pressing against his hair, and he sighs, holding him closer.

Yuuri wonders if he himself had truly been very shocked at all, either.

As the night goes on, the banquet descends into a chaos that is drunkenly outrageous, yet somehow still classy. The dancing has become less refined, the wine is still flowing strongly, and there’s an increase in shouting and laughing that hasn't slowed one bit. Yuuri thinks he sees some clothing coming undone, but he can’t say for certain. The nice outfit he had changed into after his sword dance is already stained with wine, and his eyes are having a difficult time straying from the loosened clasps of Viktor’s doublet.

As they move faster and faster, swept up into a frenzy of dancing, Yuuri suddenly spots Yura. He’s astounded to see him among the squires. 

He looks as though he’s just been asked to dance, and Yuuri sees him cautiously take the hand that Squire Otabek is offering. The Prince’s face is bright red, his mouth twitching, and all the squires hoot and cheer as Otabek lightly places his arms around him.

The group nearly explodes as Otabek kisses the Prince’s hand almost reverently, and to Yuuri’s even greater shock, Yura throws back his head to laugh with them, his cheeks aflame with drink and joy. Yuuri sees Masumi scramble on top of one of the tables to shout out a toast to young love. Yura looks like he would like to die this very moment, but Otabek’s smile is the most gentle Yuuri has ever seen it.

Yuuri glances to where the King and Queen are seated among the higher Lords and Ladies upon the dias, and he sees them watching. King Yakov’s face has softened, and Queen Lilia is trying to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief as discreetly as possible.

Yuuri silently urges Yura onward in his journey for Anteros. 

“Well, the Prince has certainly made quite a lot of new friends!” Viktor says, taking notice of Yuuri’s gaze and grinning proudly, as if Yura had been his son as well. “It’s about time, really. The little shit.”

Yuuri’s shout of laughter is lost among cheering, and he pulls his knight closer to him, never wanting to let go. They’re still dancing, and Yuuri sees that Viktor looks a bit winded. He dips him suddenly, and the knight goes down with a yelp of surprise, and Yuuri looks down into eyes that are blue, so very blue, and he thinks he can finally put a name to this feeling, and he thinks it may be ‘love.’ 

He whips him back up, catching him as he nearly topples over.

“Steady, Ser,” he laughs, holding him up, “are you alright?”

“Absolutely fine,” Viktor smiles brightly at him, bringing him in for another deep kiss. He’s twice as breathless when they pull away. Yuuri gives him a sympathetic look.

“Come, let’s sit. You look awful.”

“Thanks,” the knight snorts, but he sits beside him on the bench, wiping his brow with his handkerchief. Yuuri leans against him with a content sigh, soaking up his warmth.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says suddenly, catching his breath, “this reminds me so much of the Prince’s nameday banquet. Don’t you think?”

Yuuri blinks, turning to look at him. “Er, what do you mean, Ser?”

“I mean, you know, er, the dancing, the drinking, the,” he falters for a moment, "t-the bench. You asked to be my squire then, perhaps in this very spot.” He touches the space between them almost gingerly, his fingers brushing against the wood, and when their eyes meet, Yuuri sees something he doesn’t understand.

Viktor stares at him. Yuuri gapes at him. There’s a very long pause.

“You don’t remember,” Viktor says softly, and he looks away, down at the floor. “Yuuri, you don’t remember?”

Yuuri shifts uncomfortably, feeling the panic rise within him. “Remember what, Ser? Please, Viktor. What am I supposed to have remembered? The nameday banquet? I was too scared to even approach you. I… I drank. A lot. Alone. I don’t remember anything except waking up in my chambers the next day.”

Viktor looks as though his mind is somewhere else. Somewhere very far away. “I see,” he says, his voice even softer, so faint that it’s almost inaudible.

“Er, wait, you said that I… that I asked to be your squire?  _I_ asked _that?_ Did I really?” He feels incredibly embarrassed, to have blacked out and to have acted so foolishly. “I-I’m so sorry, Viktor, I-”

“Don’t be sorry.” Viktor is finally facing him now, and he looks as though he’s been struggling very hard with himself internally. “No, don’t be sorry at all. If it hadn’t been for that, I would not be here now. I would not be able to do this."

He takes Yuuri’s hand now, kissing his ring, and Yuuri releases the tensed breath he had been holding. Viktor's lips are warm against him, and he thinks he can feel the slightest drop of something that runs between his fingers. Is Viktor crying?

Yuuri cups the knight's face, gently raising it back up towards his own. Viktor blinks back tears, but his gaze is steady. His lips tremble as he speaks. 

"No, don't be sorry, Yuuri. This is more than I had ever dared to ask for."

He suddenly shoots him an exasperated look. “But for the love of god, boy, you’ve put me through hell and back. We couldn't have had this little revelation sooner? It would have saved us _so_ much more time.”

Yuuri, taken aback, lets out a snort of laughter as Viktor turns his face to nip at his palm. “Well, how was I to know?”

This time Viktor gives him a look that’s almost a pout. Yuuri tries not to laugh again.

“You’re quite something, Yuuri Katsuki.”

==========

They sleep in Viktor’s bed that night, as they would every night from now on, the both of them tipsy and exhausted. Yuuri’s bruises from his fight have caught up with him, and he feels sore all over. He winces slightly as he snuggles closer, and Viktor feels a stab of pride. His brave warrior.

Viktor kisses the boy's face, his neck, his shoulders, and tells him that this ought to help relieve the pain. Yuuri laughs and curls into his arms, into his warmth, and Viktor holds him tight, his face buried into the boy’s hair.

I won’t lose you, he thinks. Not again.

He thinks of the past few months. Half a year. No, more than that. So many months since the day warm brown eyes had set him ablaze and changed his life. 

His thumb brushes across Yuuri's cheek, and he watches his feathery dark lashes flutter briefly. The boy's breathing is soft and lulling, but Viktor resists the gentle tug of sleep, refusing to miss a single waking moment with the treasure held safe in his arms.

The lengths to which Viktor has gone to make this dream a reality. The amount of times he's felt his heart wrenched free of its cage, beating hard enough to choke him, loud enough to deafen him. The spirit he had tried so hard to keep alive. The hope he had clung to so desperately. 

Yes, desperately. So very desperate. Pathetic and desperate, and all for a boy who hadn't even remembered what he had done to have been gifted Viktor's sanity.

Foolish. Selfish.

Will he ever go a moment without hearing these words? Over and over, reverberating ceaselessly. Foolish. Look at how you suffered, look at how you moped and wept like a child. Selfish. Look at how hard you have tried to keep him by you. To ensure that he would remain yours. And for what? A mistake? A misunderstanding? A love that never was?

What had he forced onto the boy sleeping so peacefully beside him?

Yuuri. What had he thought of this disaster?

Viktor recalls with much guilt and shame all the ways Yuuri had reacted to him and his advances. And Viktor had been relentless, doing everything within his power to awaken what he had assumed was a dormant passion.

But there was nothing. It hadn't been a matter of shyness. It hadn't been Yuuri's quiet and nervous nature. There hadn't been anything to reawaken.

He hadn't remembered. Anything. At all.

He hadn't felt anything. At all.

Or had he?

Viktor's heart races as he thinks of every moment their gazes had ever met. That fateful day at the Prince's nameday tourney, Yuuri's eyes had blazed as they locked onto his, and the wreath of blue roses he had held had been meant for Viktor. Of this, he is certain.

_"Allow me to be your squire."_

Yes. Is that truly what Yuuri has always wanted? Viktor can no longer distinguish between what's real and what he has convinced himself is real.

He shivers. He's thinking on this far too hard. Now isn't the time for his histrionics. He ought to be happy. Isn't he happy?

That doesn't matter. Is  _Yuuri_ happy?

Yuuri makes a very soft noise as he presses closer against him, seeming to sense his discomfort. The hands held against his chest tighten slightly, and Viktor leans into their warmth, pulling the boy to him as gently as he can without waking him.

Yuuri's lips curve into a small smile, and Viktor can hear him murmur something sleepily. 

"Yuuri?"

The boy's already gone, but Viktor thinks he had caught the words he had spoken. He buries his face deep into his hair, taking in a shaking breath. He prays that he has heard correctly, and is not projecting yet another fantasy onto the pure soul before him.

His voice is hoarse as he responds. He knows that Yuuri won't remember. But he speaks the words anyway.

“I love you, Yuuri.”

When Viktor finally feels himself slipping away, it’s the easiest and most restful sleep he's ever had in his entire life.


	19. Gay Knights 19: The Fanservice Episode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Updates might come a bit slower but I don't intend to abandon this fic! There are plenty more adventures for Ser Viktor and Yuuri <3
> 
> Here's chapter art! <3  
> https://twitter.com/yuuripaws/status/880887512226557954

The upcoming days pass in haze of bliss. The festival is bright, beautiful, and the merriment is palpable, infectious. Yuuri views it in a new light, thinking that the troupes are twice as entertaining, the food twice as delicious, the wine twice as sweet. And the ale he’s downing with the other squires is twice as strong. They’ve rounded on Yuuri several times since his performance, and today they’re twice as persistent.

“I still can’t believe that happened!”

“Oh, that was so _romantic!_ ”

“Dramatic, more like.”

“You two are so embarrassing now, like a pair of newlyweds, unable to keep your hands off one another.”

Yuuri is flushed, although it may just be the ale. He absolutely cannot suppress his grin, and as it spreads wide across his face, he feels twice as happy as ever.

“Well?” Phichit nudges him now, giving him a look that Yuuri can’t quite read but thinks precedes an embarrassing and inappropriate question. “Have you two... you know. Have you?”

Yuuri blinks at him. “Have we what?”

Masumi’s eyebrows rise. “Really, Yuuri? After that performance, you’re still so innocent?”

Yuuri feels his face turning red. “Innocent?”

“They’re asking if you’ve taken Ser Viktor to bed,” Jean says bluntly. “And not,” he adds with a smirk, “just for sleep.”

Yuuri gapes at him. _Him? Viktor?_ His face is hotter than ever.

“I didn’t... I-I haven’t? Er, I didn’t think that we, er, I mean, we haven’t... gotten there yet?” He’s stammering like a fool, and his face is the reddest it has ever been, he’s certain.

The squires hoot, and he receives nudges on either side of him. 

“Yuuri!” Guang-Hong gasps, though he’s blushing as well. “With your Eros, you haven’t seduced him yet? That’s shocking!”

Yuuri considers this. He had certainly seduced his knight with his performance, yes. But what would that lead to? He fidgets anxiously, then suddenly remembers something. The dancing lessons Lady Minako had given him. Yes, _that_ sort of dancing. 

The masquerade. It’s tonight.

==========

Viktor is lounging in the banquet hall with the other knights, and they raise a toast in his direction. Again.

“To Ser Viktor’s betrothal!”

Viktor rolls his eyes. “This is the tenth time since that day that you all have toasted to my ‘betrothal.’” He raises his tankard nonetheless, unable to suppress his grin.

Ser Leo gives him an easy and lazy smile. “Well, it was certainly quite a moment. We ought to toast to it at least ten more times.”

The others shout their approval, raising their drinks once more and sloshing ale all over the table.

“To Ser Viktor’s bed!" Christophe calls out, his smile absolutely  _wicked._ “For the absolute depraved and scandalous sodomy it has had to bear thus far.”

The other knights roar with laughter, but Viktor quiets suddenly, his face growing red.

Ser Georgi is the first to notice. He leans forward, eyes wide. “Ser. Does that look mean what I think it means?”

The others gape at him for what seems like an eternity.

“I-er, I mean,” Viktor fumbles, “we haven’t- I-I-I mean, I haven’t quite-”

The table explodes as the knights pounce on him at once.

“ _You mean to tell me you haven’t gone to bed with the boy yet?_ ”

“No, I can’t believe this. He was practically making love to you from afar in that performance of his.”

“That boy was a nervous wreck as my squire, and look at him now!”

“With an arse like that, you had better claim it, or I will.”

“For fuck’s _sake,_ Ser, how could you not-”

“That’s quite enough,” Viktor snaps, his face flushed. “No, I have not. I... I didn’t think that... I wasn’t sure if he...” He looks away, embarrassed. “I’m not going to force the boy.”

Christophe lets out a bark of laughter. “Have you seen the way he looks at you? He’d take you this very instant on one of the tables if he weren’t such a shy and oblivious fool.”

The knights are hooting and whistling now, and Viktor’s mind has taken him somewhere very dark and very inappropriate.

==========

The masquerade.

Yuuri steels himself. He had been taking secret lessons with Lady Minako, who knew all sorts of dancing, namely the art of erotic dancing. The moves he had learned for his Eros performance had been quite something, but to actually dance with someone in the ballroom, to dance in such a way that left them breathless and aching, that would require something different, something darker, something more sinful.

She had helped him with his ensemble as well, having the seamstresses and tailors put together something slimming and suggestive. His hair is slicked back once more, shining bright. His mask is a deep and dark shade of red, resting snug against one side of his face, the golden embellishments and stones glittering. Over it is a strip of very sheer black fabric that ties about his head, covering his eyes in resemblance of a blindfold. His eyes are still visible behind the near-transparent fabric, lined darkly in kohl. It makes him feel very mysterious, he thinks.

He had been presented with an odd silky red tunic of sorts. The Lady had worn something like this during her time traveling with her troupe, and this was the sort of fashion she had brought back with her from foreign lands.

It's tight and high about the neck, and from that closed collar, sheer and silky fabric hangs in strips, gathered at the neck and ending in a tight black belt of sorts that stretched across his hips. There's no fabric to cover his arms or sides, for the tunic goes front to back.

His lower arms are covered in black gloves, at least, though they had no fingers but for the thumbs. He had tried very hard not to flex his fingers as the Lady painted them with a deep red lacquer. They glisten like rubies now.

The tunic continues from the belt, going round the back, as if forming some sort of coattail. He's wearing very tight black hose again, but this time the opening has that same sheer red fabric over it. The fabric has been layered over thrice, but still conceals very little. Yuuri can't decide if he's embarrassed by this or not. He's far more exposed than he had been in the arena, but something about that is so very thrilling.

And finally, Lady Minako presents him with shoes encrusted in glittering rubies, and they're the sort of shoes with elevated heels that make his legs and arse look quite fantastic, in his opinion.

He had asked Ser Viktor for permission to have them dress themselves separately, as he had wanted them to surprise each other with their outfits for the masquerade. Viktor looked very amused, but had allowed it. 

“I suppose you’ll seduce me once more tonight?”

Oh, Ser, Yuuri thinks now, you haven’t the slightest clue.

He hurries from Minako's ballroom, and the Lady kisses him soundly on the cheek before shooing him away fondly.

People are making their way to the Grand Ballroom now, all wrapped up in their luxurious cloaks, so as not to spoil the surprise. Yuuri pulls his tighter around himself as he slips in among them, and he falls into step beside Phichit. He’s absolutely beaming--more than usual, anyhow. His mask is a glossy white, striped with blue and red, and his hair looks splendid, pushed back and coiffed.

“Yuuri! Isn’t this exciting? The masquerade! Ah, and what a lovely mask you’ve got!” He looks him up and down suddenly. “Well? And what have you got under _there_ , sir?”

Yuuri looks affronted. “Good _sir!_ I am _trying_ to protect my virtue.”

Phichit slaps him on the back, cackling. “Don’t jest _too_ much, my friend. After all, tonight is the night to lose said virtue, is it not?” He flutters his eyelashes, and Yuuri blushes. He wonders when Ser Viktor will arrive.

He gasps as he enters the ballroom. The torches burn low, leaving the room dim, secretive, suggestive. Everything is draped in red, red as blood, red as passion, red as the moon. Everything seems to glow.

There are throngs of people before him, and he watches in shock as nobles, Lord, Ladies, foreign diplomats, all sorts of respectable persons now cast off their cloaks. Bodices cut so low that there seems little point to them at all. Shirts torn open, revealing bare and muscular chests. Hem lines much, much, _much_ shorter than Yuuri has ever seen. Slits that reveal legs, thighs. Hose much like his, with various things covering the crotch opening that also did next to nothing to truly conceal. Breeches that are, to Yuuri’s surprise, made of oiled leather hide, tightly hugging curves and edges.

There are some that have come dressed rather simply, only slightly undone, and Yuuri supposes that they mean to slowly shed clothing as the night goes on. And some, Yuuri notes with a bit of relief, are dressed in a style similar to his, and they look very exotic, soft silks and sheer ribbons of fabric, velvet gloves, veils, so many veils, and so many masks, glittering in the low light, with gems that sparkle, that dazzle. Masks covering all, or half of one side, or half of the top. Yuuri has a hard time spotting any familiar faces. But he hopes that he'll be able to find Ser Viktor easily.

He drops his cloak now, and Phichit makes a choking sound.

“Y-Yuuri,” he coughs out, trying to catch his breath, “ _God._ ”

Yuuri has gone as red as his tunic, and is slightly worried now. “Er, am I... I mean, do I look... alright?”

Phichit grabs his shoulder and gives him a slight push. “Go. Go find your knight. Your virtue is as good as gone, sir.”

Yuuri frets a bit, wondering if that had been a good reaction or not.

He drifts through the crowds, finding that the dim lighting makes everything seem so very risque--lovers hiding among the shadows, secret touches and stolen kisses. It’s just bright enough to see those around him, though he doesn’t need to see them, as he feels their stares piercing through him.

He dodges a few outstretched hands, and he guesses that this is the sort of thing that happens at the masquerade. Something about it makes him feel warm. Makes him feel good. Perhaps he really has seduced the entire kingdom. He feels rather wicked now as he passes under their gazes. He only has eyes for one masked face in this ballroom tonight.

He spots him suddenly. Mask or no, he knows Ser Viktor when he sees him. His hair is in its usual elegant style, his silvery fringe swept over one eye, curling ever so slightly. His mask covers his upper face, and it’s gold and so very beautifully ornate. He’s wearing a very tight fitting white shirt, the laces undone almost completely, and the sight of it makes Yuuri weak; the sight of his bare chest, of his abdomen, so lean, the skin so taut, the sleeves of his shirt ending in neat cuffs at his elbows, strong and muscular arms, firm hands hidden behind gold and silky gloves. His hose is simple, black, covered at the front, but Yuuri somehow finds that even more alluring.

He approaches slowly, stealthily, a cat that is hunting, waiting, stalking. Ser Christophe is beside the knight, and Yuuri smirks, wanting very much to see what sort of shamelessly perverted reaction he’d get from him.

He slides behind Viktor, silent, stalking, hunting, and slowly runs a finger down his spine. He feels the shudder, and when the knight turns around, Yuuri presses into him immediately.

“Hello, Ser,” he says softly, although he supposes that he could have said anything, as the knight looks as though he hasn’t heard him. Viktor’s gawping at him, his eyes devouring him twice as intensely as they ever had before, and Yuuri wonders if he might faint. 

“Ser,” Yuuri says again, his voice low, sultry. He slips a finger under his chin, raising it, and Viktor’s eyes finally snap back to his face. “Are you seduced, Ser?”

Yuuri thinks he may have killed him, because the knight is absolutely speechless, motionless. Yuuri strokes his chin with a finger, in a ‘come hither’ motion, and when the knight obeys, leaning in, Yuuri kisses him slowly, so very slowly, teasingly, sucking his bottom lip softly as he pulls away.

“Yuuri,” Viktor finally says, hoarse and breathless, “Y-Yuuri, you... you look-”

“You look like a succubus, like a wanton whore. I love it.” Christophe is beaming at him as though he were proud. He looks just as lewd, and Yuuri isn’t at all surprised to find that nothing covered the front of his hose at all. “You’ve got to display your wares if you wish to attract buyers, is that not so?” he adds, with a slight thrust of his hips.

This throws off Yuuri’s composure quite a bit, sending him into a fit of blushing, and Viktor finally snaps out of his daze.

“Well." His voice nearly cracks, and he clears his throat. “Yes, you have. Seduced me, that is. Well done. Er. Yes.”

This sends a thrill through Yuuri's body, but he hasn't quite accomplished his goal yet. He glances around the ballroom at the many couples. Or threesomes, in some cases. 

“Ser,” Yuuri says suddenly, very chipper as he takes Viktor's hand, "let's dance!"

He pulls him over to where the crowd is at its thickest, and his knight follows without comment or question. Yuuri wonders if he's lost his voice again.

The troupe of musicians that had been brought in for the masquerade play music so exotic, so wicked, so sensual--music that sends shivers down one’s spine. There’s something seductive about the way strings are plucked, fingers flying, bows sawing, a high keening sound, flutes so whimsical, and something rattling, something that sounds like snakes, so very sinuous, twisting throughout the room, and amid the dancers, amid the lovers writhing, he feels it come over him, and feels as he did during his performance, his fight, his dance, but this feeling, this dance, it would be so much more intense, powerful, passionate.

This dance. The one he had been practicing. The one he'd worked hard to perfect.

‘Who am I dancing for?,’ he asks himself. He squeezes the hand he’s holding, his knight’s hand, the knight being dragged along behind him, once again speechless and bewildered, and suddenly Yuuri spins around to face him, taking him so off guard that he stumbles.

Yuuri catches him, and he looks into eyes that are blue. So very blue. He smirks.

‘I know who.’

He leads him now, twisting and turning the knight this way and that, embracing, hands grabbing, sliding lower, bodies pressed. Yuuri feels him in ways that he never has before. Viktor is warm, but Yuuri knows that he'll soon be hot. His body is firm, powerful, hard. But Yuuri knows that he'll soon be harder.

Yuuri suddenly spins away gracefully, as gracefully as he had in the arena, his hips undulating, feeling the music surge through him, and he makes the ‘come hither’ motion once more, making as though to spin and step away farther from him, eyes playful and mischievous beneath his sheer blindfold.

Viktor seems to have snapped out of his dumbstruck daze, and he’s on Yuuri at once, grabbing an arm, pulling him close again, firm arms that enclose him and strong hands that squeeze him hard. The knight spins him forward, taking him from behind, hands roaming underneath the strips of his tunic, breath panting and ragged in Yuuri’s ear, lips making their way lightly and teasingly down his neck as they dance.

"You're playing a dangerous game here, boy," he breathes, and Yuuri shivers hard. There's something very thick in Viktor's voice. Something he's heard before but hadn't understood.

He wants to listen to it for the rest of his life.

Yuuri gasps as he feels a hand slip lower, lower, fingers ghosting his inner thighs, nearly gliding over the sheer covering of his hose. Yuuri rolls his hips back, and when Viktor makes a low sound that's almost a growl, he has to bite back a moan. The fingers pressed into his thighs dig into them now, and Yuuri can nearly feel Viktor's nails beneath his gloves.

“You won’t take me so easily, Ser!" he shouts with laughter, escaping his grasp, and they play at this--a cat and its prey, dancing, weaving, spinning, teasing, torturing, gasps and whispers, and hands, always grabbing, gripping, squeezing, and Yuuri feels something building within him, something rising, and it’s nameless, wild and untamed, and he can’t contain it, not for much longer. He locks eyes with Viktor, and what he sees in them is at once frightening and thrilling. _Hunger._

The music is building as well, screeching higher, playing faster and faster, rattling, and they move, spinning round each other, one reaching and one withdrawing, so very playful and teasing; a denial that drives them both mad. 

Yuuri's body is on fire, the heat coming from him in waves that Viktor must feel, because the sweat glistening on his chest and running down his body seems to sizzle in the blood red firelight. Yuuri wonders if he's shimmering as well, and the way Viktor's eyes follow the beads rolling down his abdomen makes him think that he must be right. 

The music reaches its peak, and so do they, and as it comes to an abrupt and screeching halt, so do they, Viktor pulling him in one last time, and Yuuri raises a leg in time for Viktor to catch it. Their bodies crash, pressed, so very close, their faces close as well, panting, sweating, and nearly gasping, and as Yuuri's raised leg wraps around the knight to draw him even closer, there’s a hardness that he can feel, and he feels it against his own. Viktor looks into his eyes, hand pressed against the small of his back, and slowly grinds his hips forward.

Yuuri moans.


	20. Gay Knights 20: The Fanservice Episode Extended Edition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY?????

Yuuri’s back slams into the doors to their chambers, and Viktor thinks he hears his head slam as well, and he wants to apologize but he can’t, and he can’t because his mouth is currently occupied by Yuuri’s tongue. He presses the boy harder into the wood, his hands roaming, squeezing his waist, grasping his hips, and Yuuri’s fingers are running through his hair, tugging, pulling him closer, deepening their kiss, and he cries out into Viktor’s mouth as Viktor slams his hips forward. Viktor wonders if the guards have heard, and he secretly hopes that they had.

His hand is scrambling for the latch, and when one of the doors finally opens, the boy falls backward, but Viktor catches him, and as they stumble blindly into the room, Viktor kicks shut the door, and he’s certain that the sound must have echoed throughout the entire castle. To his surprise, it’s Yuuri who slams him back into it, and he’s the one grabbing his waist now. Their mouths have not parted once, and Viktor isn’t about to be the one to break their kiss. They’ve been tugging and pulling at each other’s clothing, their masks long gone, Viktor’s shirt torn open, Yuuri’s high necked flowing tunic ripped and hanging off. Yuuri slams against his hips repeatedly, and as much as he’d love to be fucked into his lovely mahogany doors, Viktor thinks the bed might be a bit more comfortable.

He grabs Yuuri, lifting him up, and the boy wraps his legs about his waist as they stumble away once more. Viktor narrowly avoids crashing him into one of the bedposts. He hopes that Yuuri won’t have a concussion by the end of the night.

They fall onto the bed, and they still have not broken off their kiss, mouths moving, lips sliding, tongues teasing. Their bodies are pressed so tightly, and Viktor feels the boy’s hardness, and it fuels his frenzy, setting him ablaze. His hands are frantic, grabbing and gripping as much of the boy as he can, and Yuuri is arcing into him, as though trying to close a non-existent gap between them. 

Yuuri is the first to pull away, panting heavily, and Viktor melts at the sight of him--flushed, disheveled, breathless, sweating and gasping beneath him, and his eyes, his beautiful warm brown eyes, are darkened nearly to black, glazed with lust, a lust for _him,_ and Viktor once again finds himself frenzied, wild, tensed for an attack, when he stops himself.

The both of them lay there panting, staring into each other’s eyes, and Yuuri hesitantly speaks up.

“Ser?”

Viktor snaps out of his daze. “Yuuri,” he says, and his voice is so thick that he clears his throat. “Yuuri, I... are you alright?”

The boy blinks at him. “Er. Alright, Ser?”

“Yes,” Viktor says slowly, his brain struggling to form a coherent thought despite its blood loss. “T-that is, I mean... are you...” he trails off, because he can’t tear his eyes from the beads of sweat glistening on the boy’s neck.

Yuuri props himself up on his elbows, and Viktor rises, straddling him. They stare.

“I don’t want to force you into anything,” Viktor blurts suddenly. Yuuri continues to stare. “I, er, I know that I’ve been very... forward with you thus far. I...” His eyes dart back and forth, unable to meet Yuuri’s, suddenly feeling a bit shy and awkward. “I want you to be sure... is what I mean.”

Yuuri seems to finally understand, and he gives Viktor a look so soft that Viktor somehow feels even more shy and awkward.

“Yes, Viktor,” he says as his lips start to curve into a slow smile. “Yes, I’m very sure. Please, come back to me.”

Viktor obeys at once, and their mouths meet, and there’s a longing, a desperation, and Viktor’s strange shyness melts away, and he’s grabbing again, squeezing again, and Yuuri gasps as he rolls his hips down. Viktor moves his lips down to his throat, and to his neck, and to his ear.

“Yuuri,” he whispers, and feels the boy shiver, “I’ll be gentle. I don’t want to hurt you.” He moves to kiss his neck once more, but what Yuuri says next makes him freeze.

“No.”

Viktor blinks. He rises to look into his eyes. He blinks once more.

Before he can say anything, Yuuri reaches up, tangling the fingers of one hand into Viktor’s hair, the other hand running slowly down his own body. “Viktor,” he says softly, “give me everything. Don’t hold back. Don’t be gentle. I...” his voice is strained now, almost desperate, “I want you, all of you.”

Viktor is still frozen, looking into Yuuri’s eyes, shocked.

“Yuuri,” he says quietly, very slowly, “do you understand what you are asking of me?” He feels himself begin to shake, his heart and mind begin to race, and he’s fighting for control, fighting to see through the haze of something, something dark, something wild.

“Yes,” the boy whispers, and Viktor sees a similar something in his eyes; something vulnerable and willing. Prey begging to be devoured.

“Please." Desperate and breathless.

Viktor loses his fucking _mind_. 

He falls upon him at once, his lips finding the boy’s and kissing him hard, hard enough to bruise, sucking and biting and he tastes blood, and he feels the boy gasp into his mouth, and he feels a snarling from within, and he’s grabbing him again, grabbing hard enough to bruise, to _break,_ and his lips move down, down to his throat, sucking and biting, and when he sinks his teeth hard into Yuuri’s neck the boy cries out, his hands running through Viktor’s hair, and Viktor bites again, again, again, everywhere--neck, throat, shoulders, collar, leaving marks, _his_ marks, and no one else’s, because this is _mine, all mine_.

He pulls back, grasping at the remnants of Yuuri’s tunic, ripping it further off until the boy lies exposed beneath him, in only his gloves and his hose, and Viktor can see the boy’s cock, hard and straining against the sheer fabric that covers the opening between his legs. He runs his hands up and down Yuuri’s torso, squeezing and gripping, wanting to leave bruises, and he sees the ones from his bites beginning to show, and decides that he’d like to make more.

He’s on him once more, biting, sucking, marking, breaking skin, and now he makes his way down Yuuri’s chest, and he sucks at each nipple, his tongue wet and teasing around them, and Yuuri cries out again, squirming, gasping, hissing his name, and Viktor sucks and bites, drawing gasp after gasp, and now his fingers grab and pull at them as he continues down, down to the boy’s stomach, running his tongue along his abdomen, along the firm muscle there, and he feels it move beneath the skin--so taut and yet so soft, so very soft, and when he sinks his teeth into his flesh, the boy arcs his back, a shout of pain and pleasure bursting forth from his lips.

Viktor’s mouth travels lower, towards the soft and sensitive parts of the boy’s body, and he squirms even harder when Viktor kisses the sheer fabric stretching over something hard, something so very _hard,_ and in a blind frenzy he rips that fabric now, exposing the boy between his thighs, and his freed cock is throbbing, twitching, so very red and so _thick,_ and for a moment Viktor freezes--imagining himself being taken, split and filled by it, and the thought nearly leaves him drooling. 

Yuuri is whimpering now, desperate, and Viktor takes another small moment to admire this, to let the boy squirm, to watch him suffer, and suddenly he’s kissing the boy’s thighs, biting into the soft flesh, so very soft, and as he bites and sucks and bruises he hears Yuuri cry out loudly, shouting his name, and he’s squirming so hard, hips bucking, and Viktor grabs his hips to keep him still, kissing and licking and biting, and he refuses to stop until the boy’s thighs are covered in marks, marks that will bloom into beautiful bruises, and Yuuri is nearly sobbing now, his hand to his mouth, trying to muffle his cries.

Viktor lifts the boy’s hips now, and the opening of his hose leads far back, leaving the entirety of himself exposed, and Viktor loves it, he loves the boy’s covered legs and exposed middle, and he lets him keep his hose, and his gloves, as something about it is so delicious, so alluring, to have him covered and yet so _exposed_.

He lifts Yuuri’s hips even higher now, and he licks and sucks down, past his cock, and he can hear Yuuri making sounds of frustration, sounds of desperation, and as Viktor suddenly flips him over, the sounds are now of shocked pleasure as Viktor’s tongue pushes into him, his lips sucking, teasing. His tongue slides in and out, wet and hot, licking along the rim, and the boy is nearly screaming now, squirming and twisting and bucking down into the bedding. 

Viktor withdraws, kissing and licking, and he bites into the boy’s cheeks now, biting _hard,_ and he moves higher, leaving a trail of marks up the boy’s spine, and he’s biting the back of his neck now, biting even harder, and now the boy is screaming; he’s screaming because the hands that have been caressing now come down hard against his cheeks, so very hard, again and again, reddening, bruising, and his teeth have not relinquished their hold upon his neck, sinking deeper--a predator, a beast that refuses to let go of its prey until it gives in, until it _begs_ to be torn apart. Yuuri’s face is pressed into the bedding, muffling his screaming, muffling his sobbing as Viktor’s hand falls again and again, harder each time, and he can feel the boy’s legs trembling, his thighs quivering, and he flips him over once more.

Yuuri is covering his mouth once more, his eyes tearing, chest heaving, his face so very red, as red as the cock hard and desperate between his legs, and Viktor moves now, slowly, so very slowly, his eyes never leaving Yuuri’s until his lips graze the head, and Yuuri inhales sharply, tensed, his thighs shaking harder, and when Viktor’s tongue darts out to circle it, the boy bites into his hand to stop himself from crying out once more, and he bites harder as Viktor licks up and down the length of him. When Viktor finally takes him into his mouth, the boy bucks wildly, screaming his name again, _Viktor! Ser! Viktor!,_ and Viktor moves, up and down slowly, teasing, torturing, and suddenly Yuuri lets out a long and throaty moan, his head rolling back, and something within Viktor snaps because there it is, that moan, the one he’s been aching for, and now he’s the one desperate and tortured, and he thinks that Yuuri must sense it because the boy moans again and again, louder, and he moans his name now, _oh Viktor, Ser, please_ and Viktor sees red, rising to catch the boys lips with his own, biting and sucking, gasping as Yuuri moans into his mouth. 

His own cock has been straining, trapped and raging, and he pries himself off the boy just long enough to scramble at the drawer in the stand beside his bed, withdrawing the vial of oil, rubbing it between his hands to warm it, and all the while Yuuri lies there, panting and trembling, bruised and red, so very _red_ , and now Viktor is tugging down his own hose, nothing underneath, and he falls upon Yuuri once more to grind his cock onto his, and Yuuri cries out so sweetly that Viktor nearly weeps.

He drizzles the oil onto the boy, onto his cock, and Yuuri shudders hard as it trickles down, and Viktor pours more, rubbing it, coating his hole and the fingers that push into it now, thick and slick and dripping, and his eyes never leave Yuuri’s face as he slides in and out, absolutely drinking in the sight of him, eyes wide, gasping, and as Viktor fingers him deeper, Yuuri once more brings a hand to his face, covering his mouth and trembling.

No, that won’t do. Viktor coats himself now, and as he positions himself, rubbing and teasing his head against the boy’s hole, he reaches out to remove the hand covering Yuuri’s mouth. Yes, he shall have him screaming, and with nothing to muffle his cries. He grabs up both hands in his now, easily encircling his wrists tightly, tight enough to break them, and with his other hand he grabs Yuuri’s waist so firmly, nails digging in, that the boy whimpers.

Whimpering turns to gasping, and gasping turns to moaning now, because Viktor enters him slowly, so very slowly and smoothly, gliding into him, slick and hot and wet and  _tight, so very TIGHT,_ and he takes a shuddering breath, and moans when Yuuri bucks his hips, gasping and squirming. He sheathes himself completely, deeply, and takes a moment to bask in the sight--Yuuri impaled on him, so very filled _and so tight,_ and he’s here, at last, and he’s his, he’s Viktor’s, and he’s _here_ and he’s _real._

“V-Viktor,” the boy pants, “please... Ser, please!” He’s still squirming so deliciously, wanting more, begging for more, and Viktor snaps out of his daze, withdrawing and thrusting hard. Yuuri’s head rolls back, and he gasps with every slow thrust, and he moans, _that_ moan, as Viktor quickens his pace, and the boy feels so good around his cock, so delicious. Viktor grabs his legs now, raising them to sit upon his shoulders, and his lips find Yuuri’s again, sucking on his swollen and bruised bottom lip, lapping up the blood still streaked across them, then moving to his neck, biting once more, and he thrusts again and again and again, and Yuuri is crying out, moaning, begging him, _please Ser please, faster Ser, please,_ and Viktor obeys, because he’ll do anything to hear that moan, to look down on a face twisted in ecstasy, to see his eyes roll back, and Viktor himself moans as he thrusts faster, harder, and he must have struck gold, because the boy is _screaming_ now, screaming in such a way that Viktor wonders if guards may come running, and he realizes suddenly that the large windows are open, and wonders if the festival-goers camping on the castle grounds can hear. He certainly hopes that they can.

His attention snaps back to the boy now writhing on his cock, his own hard and straining desperately, and Viktor strokes it now, slowly, teasingly, slick fingers gliding over slick skin, and Yuuri is sobbing now, and as Viktor thrusts and strokes faster, so much faster, he screams once more, and the sound increases Viktor’s fever tenfold. He pounds him hard into the bedding, hearing it creak and groan, and Yuuri is screaming himself hoarse, his nails clawing at Viktor’s shoulders and back frantically, and Viktor feels the thrilling pain of his flesh being torn.

The feeling has him snarling, biting at Yuuri’s neck once more, a deep growl in his throat, harder and harder and faster, and Yuuri is screaming out _oh god, oh yes, god, o-oh, g-god--Viktor!_ and Viktor bites harder, delirious and wild, thinking, _yes, I am your god, scream my name, scream my name!_

Yuuri gasps loudly now, his breath hitching, and Viktor can feel him tense, feel him shaking hard, and he knows the boy must be close. He bites and sucks at the sensitive spot between his jaw and his ear, and he feels Yuuri shudder even harder. 

" _Oh_ ," the boy moans, "V-vik _-OH g-god_ , Ser _p-please_!" He throws his head back, crying out now, " _Viktor!_ I-I'm... I'm g-going to... I c-can't, Ser,  _PLEASE! PLEASE, SER, **PLEASE!** "_

Viktor feels himself rising, feels himself shake, his breathing ragged, but he holds back, wanting Yuuri to be the first pushed over the edge, wanting to feel the boy tighten around his cock when he writhes in ecstasy. 

“Scream for me, Yuuri,” he snarls into the boy’s ear, pumping him faster, and Yuuri bucks and spasms wildly now with his release, screaming and sobbing his name,  _Viktor!_ and he gasps and pants, and they lock eyes, Yuuri’s so dark and misty, looking up at him, worshiping him, loving him, and the boy spreads his legs wider for him and  _moans_ , and Viktor is the one crying out now, his eyes rolling back, his hips jerking hard, filling him, marking him as his own, and he slows his thrusts, so slow, so delicious, and then withdraws with a shuddering gasp. 

He falls upon the boy, kissing up his neck and finding his lips, kissing so slowly, so softly, so lovingly. They lie there, panting hard, enclosed within each other’s arms, trembling, quivering, coming down from their ecstasy.

Yuuri lets out a small whimper as he buries his face into Viktor’s chest, and Viktor buries his own face into the boy’s hair. He smells of sweat and of Yuuri, and Viktor kisses the top of his head ever so gently. He raises Yuuri’s chin to look into his eyes, and is relieved to see them in a haze of sleepy content. The boy smiles at him so shyly, his face still flushed, and Viktor is breathless, because Yuuri is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his entire life.

“Yuuri,” he says softly, his voice tinged with worry, “are you alright?”

The boy nods, even twice as shy, his face flushing even harder, his gaze elsewhere, unable to make eye contact. “Y-yes, Ser. I... I liked it a lot. I-I, um." He’s so shy, so cute, and Viktor melts. “I, um... I would like to do it again... um. A lot?” He buries his face into Viktor’s chest again.

Viktor is suddenly very aware of a stinging and aching sensation, and realizes that his entire back is scored with cuts, slashes, and is most likely bleeding. Yuuri, he realizes, is worse off. His lips are still bruised and bleeding slightly, his entire body marked and bruised, his neck so very red and covered in the imprints of Viktor’s teeth, skin broken in some places, and he feels guilty.

“Here,” he says, drawing away from the boy, pushing him back onto the cushions gently. His lips travel across his body, kissing his bruises lightly, lovingly, and he feels Yuuri squirm a bit, ticklish and laughing.

Viktor sits up and looks at the state of them--the sheer disheveled, stained, sweating, bleeding mess of them, and grins.

“I’ll have someone draw us a bath.”

\----------

Viktor strolls into the banquet hall alone the next morning, leaving Yuuri to rest in bed. He feels eyes on him, hears whispers, and as he approaches the knights, he sees Christophe beaming at him, nearly tearing up with pride.

Viktor grabs up a tankard and raises it.

“A toast, good Sers! A toast to my bed!”

The table erupts in howls and hoots, and Viktor is certain that this has been the greatest Harvest Festival yet.


	21. Gay Knights 21: A Very Gay Apology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!!! It's been a while... again;;;
> 
> I have a lot of projects on my plate at the moment, but I've been sitting on this smut filler for a while, so I figured I should post it?
> 
> So... a very short but very filthy chapter, I'm sorry! I still intend to pick this back up someday.

I’ve created a monster, Viktor thinks.

It seems as though he cannot go a day -- or even a few hours, really -- without being shoved against a wall, or dragged into an empty room, the boy pressed hard and aching against him, kissing and teasing and leaving him a shaking and breathless mess.

In the days since the Harvest Festival's end, Viktor has watched Yuuri unfurl like a blossoming flower. A plant that attracts, that traps, that consumes. And Viktor's quite the willing prey, no matter how bruised and battered he's left in the aftermath. He'll do whatever it takes to sate the boy's suddenly awakened hunger. Even if it kills him -- and at this rate, it certainly will.

He finds himself in the pantry today, among the bread and spices, on the floor with his back pressed against the wall, and the boy is on him, riding him desperately, his cock freed from the breeches he’s pulled down. Viktor’s own is deep within him, and he groans as Yuuri bounces up and down on it, panting, moaning, nails sunken deep into Viktor’s scabbed shoulders, back arched beautifully.

Viktor is nearly delirious, gripping his waist hard, guiding him, and the feel of the boy sliding up and down, up and down,  _up and down_ , has him gasping, moaning, grabbing him harder, and he leans forward now to kiss him deeply, hungrily, his fingers wrapping around Yuuri’s cock and stroking slowly.

Yuuri gasps, moaning into Viktor’s mouth and bucking madly into his hand, and Viktor feels something hot and wild shoot through his body, something that builds and builds into an oncoming ecstasy, something that --

Yuuri suddenly slows, cupping Viktor’s chin to tilt his face up towards him. He slides up and down so slowly, so deliciously teasing, and grabs both of Viktor’s hands now, pinning them against the wall with his own. Viktor has always admired his surprising bursts of strength, and he feels helpless, held in place by blazing dark eyes.

“Ser,” the boy whispers, “do you want it?”

Viktor grunts, squirming in frustration, and thrusts his hips upwards, but Yuuri rises higher, nearly withdrawing completely. The sudden lack of warmth is nearly paralyzing, and Viktor has to bite back another agonized grunt. 

“Ah, Ser,” Yuuri purrs, “that’s cheating. And I asked you a question, did I not?”

Viktor reddens hotly, panting slightly and gritting his teeth. This  _boy_.

“Yes, please, I want it.”

Yuuri frowns a bit and cocks his head to the side so very innocently, as though he hadn’t heard him. “I’m sorry, Ser? What was that you said?”

“I said,” Viktor grinds out once more, his voice a low but strained growl, “I want it.  _Please_.”

“Oh? And what is it that you want?” The boy's eyes are half-lidded, wicked. Any previously feigned innocence has evaporated under the heat of his gaze. 

Viktor squirms frantically again, the head of his cock just barely inside the boy. He can’t take this much longer. He can feel himself on edge, so close and yet so wretchedly far. He _needs_ it.

“Please,” he pants, losing his composure completely, his body racked with shudders of desperation. “Please, ride me. _Fuck me_. God, Yuuri,  _please_?”

Yuuri seems pleased with this answer, and drops hard onto him without warning. Viktor’s vision blacks, his eyes seeing stars, or perhaps it’s just his head hitting the wall, as he’s thrown it back, moaning, nearly screaming as Yuuri rides him faster and faster, hard and rough and wild. They’ve been here for quite a long time, Yuuri constantly pausing to tease him, bringing him to the brink of pleasure only to dangle his release before him like an unobtainable treat that he's yet to earn. It’s driving him absolutely  _mad_.

The boy has stamina, Viktor thinks weakly, and wonders if his heart will give out by the time Yuuri’s done toying with him. The thought is certainly thrilling. If he has to perish at anyone's hand, he'd much rather it be Yuuri's.

But Yuuri has decided to free him from his delicious torture, stroking himself and crying out with a final jerk of his hips. Viktor feels it thick and hot across his chest, and he throws his head back once more, thighs quivering violently as he's finally allowed his release, sobbing as he comes hard inside the boy.

Yuuri continues to slide up and down slowly, seeming to savor the last of Viktor's draining energy, then withdraws, straddling him and kissing him, lips trailing down his neck to the places where he’s made marks of his own.

Viktor rests his head against the wall with a thud, eyes closed, panting hard and still trembling. He feels faint, unable to do anything but waste away in this now soiled pantry.

“ _God_ ,” he says suddenly, “I want to die this very moment.”

“Ser?” Yuuri sounds very concerned, and a little nervous. “What do you mean, Viktor?”

Viktor opens one eye and grins devilishly at him, hands coming up to squeeze his waist playfully. “If I had to die, I’d want this to be my final moment. Ah, what bliss!”

\----------

As it turns out, Viktor finds himself wanting to die rather often.

He wants to die when Yuuri pushes him into an empty storeroom, kneeling to take him in his mouth, sucking and teasing until Viktor is too weak to even stand, swallowing him, licking his lips and licking him clean. He takes him again and again, sucking him dry and leaving him sore.

He wants to die when Yuuri very casually places his hand in his lap in the banquet hall, teasing, touching, feeling his hardness. His hand is deft, undoing the laces of his breeches just enough to draw out his cock, stroking slowly, and so very casually. Viktor attempts to continue his meal as though nothing were wrong, but his composure is slipping fast. He prays that no one will notice him sweat and squirm, but he catches sight of Ser Christophe, and the other knight winks at him.

He wants to die during training, when Yuuri moves the way he did at the festival, subtle enough for Yura not to take notice, but so very blatant to Viktor’s eye. As he dismisses them, Yuuri watches as Yura leaves, and when he’s certain he’s gone, he shuts the large doors and turns to Viktor, smiling so very innocently. Viktor is soon pressed into the grounds, pressed into the beautiful garden as Yuuri mounts him, throwing his legs over his shoulders, and Viktor must bite his fist to muffle his moans.

He wants to die as he wraps his lips around Yuuri’s cock, the boy seated in the chair at his desk in their chambers, and Viktor before him on the floor, on his knees, and Yuuri grips his hair, tugging and running his fingers through, seated as though he were a King before a groveling servant. Viktor can feel the boy’s smirk without even having to see it, and feels utterly powerless beneath it, as though it were the tip of his leather boot pressing down onto the back of his neck.

He wants to die as his face is shoved against the outer walls of the stables one night, heavy rope binding his wrists up around one of the iron ring hooks, a leather bit in his mouth to stop him from screaming as Yuuri takes him from behind. His head jerks back as the boy yanks on the reins, and his cries of pain and pleasure are muffled as Yuuri brings down the riding crop hard upon his cheeks.

But he doesn’t want to die when they lie in the grass, deep within the woods just outside the castle, lips meeting so sweetly, their kisses slow and deep, and he enters him, so slow, so loving, and they grip each other so gently, Viktor so very deep within the boy, moving faster, and they move in the moonlight, so very gentle, so very tender, and as he looks down into eyes that shine so very bright, as bright as the stars above, Viktor realizes that he doesn’t want to die -- he wants to live. He wants to live for this, for Yuuri, for these moments in the woods, and moments everywhere. He wants to live for love, and as they move, faster and faster, gently, so very gently, their cries are lost among the branches of the trees, swallowed into the night.


End file.
